The Bird or The Cage
by Akeeni
Summary: Elizabeth gives up her powers to return to the original reality with Booker. She attempts to live as his daughter, but events are already in motion and she has already become so much more.
1. Chapter 1

First installment of a Bioshock Fanfic I have been working on. I have roughly eleven chapters done (although 8-11 needs a lot more work) and I plan on quite a few more. With such a backlog, I should be able to consistently post weekly updates, even if I see something shiny and get distracted for a while.

This will get 18+, and I don't buy into the 'they're not related' AU's, so if crazy, incesty sex isn't your thing, I apologize in advance. If it is your thing, I hope I don't disappoint!

xxoo

**Chapter 01 - Back in the Cage.**

It felt like he hadn't been back here in years. How long had it really been? A week or so? Maybe a little less, or a little more? Booker wasn't sure how time worked when your crossed realities. Maybe it made it seem like you had been on a much longer journey than you actually had. He would have to ask the Lutece's if he ever saw them again. He let out a small, amused grunt when he imagined their answer. Sure, they might even tell him the truth, but they were not likely to explain it in a way he was able to understand. For all their help back in Columbia, Booker found the "twins" completely unhelpful.

'If they truly wanted to help me, they would have been waiting with an airship of their own.' He mused. But he knew it wasn't true…they had given him this one, small chance. A chance he was beginning to feel the weight of as his daughter roamed his bleak little apartment, eyeing the cracked wallpaper and peering over the mess that cluttered his desk.

He supposed he could ask Elizabeth about how long they had truly lost in Columbia, going in and out of her tears, but he knew the girl was slowly losing the memory of her brief encounter with omnipotence. When the Twins rowed them towards the final lighthouse, they had explained it all in their insane banter with each other. Booker had gotten lost in the conversation, his brain finally shutting out any new information while it desperately tried to deal with all it had already learnt. But Elizabeth understood every word. He got the gist of it, of course. She could keep her powers, her tears and her doors. Or she could go back to the reality they had dragged both father and daughter from, and she would be whole again.

The Bird or the Cage?

She chose him and the Luteces planted them right back in his apartment. She chose mortality and family. She chose Booker. As he watched her slowly circle his dingy little habitat, he could not imagine her not coming to regret this decision. There was nothing he could do to soften this blow for her. This is where your father lives, Elizabeth. This is what you have gotten yourself into. In the time he spent in Columbia he felt himself getting…cleaner. Little by little, some of his sins were washed away as he ran around with this strange young woman by his side, the gentle click of her heels fast becoming his favorite sound. He might have even managed to convince himself that he was a better man afterwards. Elizabeth looked up to him as her savior. Her knight. Her guardian. The fool that he was actually started to believe that he could be that type of man for her. But coming back to his apartment was like waking up from a dream. The stark reality of who he really was was strewn across the floor and crackling down the walls. He would have to tidy this place up. This was no fit place to share with his daughter.

Holy shit. His daughter. The thought still managed to punch him in the face every time. A few days ago, he had no one. Now he had her. And he had a lifetime to make up for.

He awkwardly shuffled into the room, his eyes watching the bright little figure roaming around his otherwise dark and depressing office, ready to pounce into action if she uncovered anything too incriminating. He was lost for words, instead letting her explore on her own, ready to field any questions that must be forming in her pretty little head. He could hardly give her any type of tour. See, Elizabeth, this is the pile I make with empty liquor bottles. That pile over there is where I throw all my clothes. I might take them down to get washed once a month, when Ruth is working. She lets me drink whisky while I'm waiting and I like to watch the way her breasts bounce when she's washing a month's worth of my dirty laundry. You'll meet Ruth, she's a great lady. Works part time down at the cathouse when times are tough. She knows a lot of jokes you are probably too sweet to understand, but you'll get on great. This here is my desk. I would say that I work here, but I can see you looking at all those racing forms and ticket stubs, and we both know that isn't true. Oh and see that clear patch on the floor here? This is where I wake up sometimes, even though I never remember going to sleep there. Also, I can't remember which of these basins I pissed in when I was too drunk to go down stairs because this place has no plumbing, so try not to use either of them to wash with. Gee, I bet you're glad you gave up godlike powers for all this, huh?

But she did, didn't she? She gave it all up, right when she could see exactly what she was getting herself into. He didn't understand it, but the very thought of it made him want to march her down the stairs and not let her back into the apartment until he had scrubbed every square inch. He was painfully reminded of her tower. As sick as it was to keep a girl locked away in there, she certainly was cared for. It was clean, she was well fed and educated. She had books, instruments and a room full of art supplies. He might have been able to find some old newspapers and a small book of naked women in lewd poses under all the clutter. There might be a stale loaf of bread in a cupboard somewhere, if the rats hadn't claimed it. He struggled to remember if there was a library close by that he could take her to. She needed clothes, too. Clothes, books and food. He made a mental note of everything he would have to acquire for her alongside a running tally of what little cash he had to his name. He doubted Columbia's currency was any good in America back in Comstock's reality, let alone this universe that had never even heard of it. Maybe he could pawn the coins or pass them off as some type of foreign currency and get them exchanged.

Or you could get a decent job and support your daughter like an honest man, you jerk.

His thoughts stopped dead in their tracks when Elizabeth's eyes fell on the last place he wanted to talk about. The door to the only other room in the apartment, locked and boarded up. She ran her hands over the splintered wood and unsuccessfully tried to turn the knob.

"What's in here?" She asked casually, like everyone had that one room in their house they had hastily nailed wooden planks over.

Does she really not remember? Has she lost the memory so soon? Wasn't it only minutes ago that they were in that room together? Was it a few minutes or a few years?

"That's…" He started, unaware of how to handle this situation. "That's not a room we need to go in."

She looked at him with her big blue eyes, and to his disbelief she accepted his comment without question. We just don't go in there. That's all. Just stay in this room, even with the filth it's still a more pleasant sight than what you'll find in there. She turned away and walked back to his desk, running her finger along the edge and coming up with a finger covered in dust.

"So…" He started again, walking further into his old life and hating every moment of it. "What do you think?" The question was immediately regretted. What else would she think? You're a pig, Booker. How can you live like this? I am so glad you sold me to Comstock right now, I would have been the dirtiest kid on the block. Everyone would have made fun of me.

But the look on her face, that bright expressive face that couldn't tell a lie, was one of happiness. He had seen it before on her, and he sure as hell was seeing it again.

"I love it!" She collapsed back and perched on the edge of his desk, crossing her legs in front of her like a proper lady. "Of course, it needs a bit of a clean, but it's ours. Can we really just come and go as we please?"

"We sure can." He replied, feeling his spirits lift at her unexpected optimism. "Well, Bill Bob can get a bit antsy if you keep weird hours, but yeah. As we please."

"Oh, who's Bill Bob?!" Elizabeth asked, as if she was about to meet a new best friend. That bright young girl who ran out of the tower with him was coming back, it seemed. After all she had been through - all that he had put her through - she still had her spirit.

"He lives downstairs. Owns the whole building. I guess I should introduce you, I can see him pitching a fit when a strange face comes down to fetch some water from the lobby."

Last time Booker saw Bill it hadn't ended well. Booker had gone down drunk to try and get an extension on his rent. Nothing out of the ordinary, but things were said and a few punches were thrown. But he had known the man well over twenty years, and he knew that it was mostly water under the bridge by now. Cold, sour water.

No more drunken fistfights with your landlord anymore, Booker. You have a daughter to take care of.

He led Elizabeth out of the apartment, across the narrow hallway and down the wide, wooden staircase.

No big deal. Just walking out of my apartment after I was sucked into another reality for a few days, with a girl who wasn't there when I walked in.

The stairs opened up into a larger hallway. Left would take you back out onto the street, and right took you into a larger room with an administration desk and a small lounging area. Bill's apartment was on the ground floor, but he chose to spend his time in the lobby, listening to his radio and barking complaints at his tenants as they came and went from the building. Bill Bob was a short, rough beachball of a man of about sixty with small wire rimmed glasses who's right arm seemed to be permanently clutching a newspaper. He sat exactly where Booker last saw him. His ass in an oversized leather chair next to his radio, in the perfect spot to keep an eye on the comings and goings of the building. He gave Booker the usual disdainful look over the top of his glasses, but the looked turned into something so much more hateful when his eyes fell on Elizabeth.

"Son, I have told you before, I am not running some cheap bordello here."

Booker held his hand up. Let me explain.

"And good god, Dewitt, how old is this one? " The older man continued, slapping his thigh with his paper in exasperation.

'Here goes.' Booker thought.

"Easy up there, big fella. Bill, this is Elizabeth. She's…She's my-"

"I'm his daughter!" Elizabeth piped up happily. "Hello!" She finished, giving a small wave. Bill sat dumbfounded for a few moments, before the realization set in.

"ETHEL!" He suddenly roared at the top of his lungs. "ETHEL! GIT OUT HERE! DEWITT"S KID IS BACK!"

"-and Elizabeth, this is Bill Bob. Our landlord." Booker finished half heartedly.

"It's nice to meet you!" Elizabeth walked forward with her hand extended. "This is a nice building you have here! How long have you known my father?"

"Well, I'll be." Bill continued, struggling up from his chair to get closer to Elizabeth. "My word, Dewitt, how does a fella like you make somethin so sweet? Let me have a look at you girl. ETHEL!"

"William Robert!" A voice called out from behind the administration area. "Your hollerin is gonna scare off the rats. What's got you so worked up?"

A large, similar shaped woman hobbled out from behind the desks, clutching a dirty dish towel in her hands. Her eyes fell on Booker and Elizabeth and her face almost turned to one of scorn before Bill spoke again.

"It's the girl, Dewitt's girl! The little babe, remember?"

A moment passed before the same look of recognition washed over the woman's face and she cooed in a high pitched, almost nasal voice.

"Oh, the sweet little baby! Have you come back from out west to see your Papa?"

Elizabeth briefly gave Booker a searching glance and he discreetly, if not shamefully, nodded to her. She turned back to answer, but the woman had closed the gap between them and embraced Elizabeth in a bone crushing hug.

"My lord in heaven, what a pretty girl! How are your grandparents? Have they been treating you good over there on the ranch?"

"It's been…" Elizabeth started, before turning back to give Booker another searching look. "Educational."

"Oh! She's smart too." Ethel said, releasing the young woman from the hug. "Didn't get that from her Daddy, that's for sure."

"Thank you, Mrs Robert." Booker chuckled. He could be offended, but he had given the woman plenty of reasons to doubt his intelligence over the years. "Look, Elizabeth is gonna be staying with me for a while, I thought I might let you know. Save giving the old man a heart attack."

"I'll outlive you, son." Bill gruffly stated as he sat back into his chair. "Ethel, show the girl to the washroom. And get her some food."

Ethel grabbed Elizabeth's wrist and all but dragged her behind the desks and out of sight of the two men. Before she went, Elizabeth gave Booker a look that could only be a silent plea.

What should I say? Her eyes asked.

Just make it up as you go along, his look said back as he shrugged. I believe in you, Baby.

When the women were out of sight, Bill's demeanour returned to the hard, no bullshit man Booker was used to. A look that often preceded words that he did not want to hear.

"What are you doing here, son?" Bill asked.

"Bill, trust me when I say you will not believe what I have gone through these last few days." He started, knowing nothing could truly explain what had happened in Columbia. "We…reconnected. I'm gonna take care of her now. You're a father, aint you? You understand?"

"Mhhm, I'm a Father and a man who's had a steady income for over forty years. I've never had no fancy fella's in motor cars and shiny suits come lookin for me. I know they're not offerin you no honest day's work, son, so I'm gonna ask you again. What are you doin getting a sweet girl like that into the situation you're in?"

Booker hated the man sometimes. He had a gruff, blunt honesty that earned him nothing but scorn from polite society. Booker always appreciated that about him. He knew damn well how much he needed it sometimes, as much as he hated the man for it. He was right, Booker knew was not in a good situation for this. But he had to try. He had to be the man Elizabeth seemed to think he was. He had to be the man she needed.

"Look, Bill, those men aint the worst trouble I've ever had. You know that. I'm gonna take care of them and I'm gonna take care of my daughter. I didn't expect this. Honest, I didn't. But I have her back, and I wanna…do it right, this time."

The older man gave Booker one of his trademark looks of scornful disbelief. I'll believe it when I see it. But he relaxed back into his chair, a sign that he was prepared to drop the argument. A Father could got begrudge another for wanting to take care of his child.

'Now comes the hard part.' Booker thought.

"Listen, Bill…" He started. The man gave him his undivided and slightly mocking attention. "About that rent money…"

"You cannot be serious, son."

"If I wasn't desperate…come on. For the girl?"

He sighed and reached into his back pocket. He all but threw the money back at Booker after counting it.

"Mark my words, she's gonna be longing for that ranch soon enough."

"Yeah, we'll see about that."

"Double next month. No exceptions."

Booker pocketed the cash as the women came back from the washroom, Elizabeth carrying a bucket of water and a tray full of baked goods.

"Appreciate it." He nodded to the old man, receiving nothing but a grunt for his efforts.

The apartment seemed to take on a colder, harsher atmosphere when they returned. Bill had given him more of a reality check than Booker was prepared to deal with, with the remnants of other realities already weighing heavily on him. The sun was setting behind the buildings and Booker went about turning on the meagre lighting. Elizabeth looked about for somewhere to put her gifts, but couldn't find somewhere that looked suitable enough. Booker gestured to the corner to his makeshift kitchen. Really just the corner that happened to have a stove in it. He dusted off the bench so Elizabeth at least had somewhere clean to put her food.

'That's where food goes now,' He told himself. 'Keep it clean.'

"What did you tell them?" Elizabeth suddenly asked. "Ethel and Bill. About me, I mean."

Booker sighed a long and drawn out sigh. Half calming himself and half buying time before he had to explain it to her. "After you were born…they knew I was having…problems. I said you were sent to a ranch out west to live with your grandparents."

"A Ranch?" She asked. "Booker I have never seen a cow. How am I supposed to convince them I grew up on a ranch?"

"Well, I didn't think it through, did I?" Habit drew him over to his bed, and he shrugged out of his holsters and vest. "I sure as hell wasn't going to tell them the truth."

"What should I tell them if they ask questions?"

"Just…you know…bullshit them."

Elizabeth leaned against the bench and idly picked at a roll, nibbling a small piece.

"Bullshit them?" She asked, testing out her Father's language.

"Yeah. You're a smart girl. It'll be nothin for you to outsmart most people." He lay back on his bed, surprised at how much he missed it. His muscles had started to sing out to him in pain. Remember us, asshole? What have you been doing these last few days? How young do you think we are?

He hadn't slept since Columbia. Although it couldn't really be called sleeping if someone forces you into that state with a wrench. God, he was exhausted. His body and his brain had been tested and all he wanted to do was slip into that comfortable abyss and let the pain and the confusion all float away for a little while. He started to count the realities he had visited since he last slept, and felt himself slowly drifting off.

"Booker."

His eyes snapped open. He looked over to see Elizabeth finishing off her roll.

"Where can I sleep?"

He groaned. Great job so far, Booker. Your daughter is just as exhausted as you are, and you go straight to sleep without taking care of her. Did he even have somewhere for her to sleep?

"Can I just climb in with you?" She asked. The question opened a part of his brain that he immediately snapped close. No. Not now. Not ever. He sprung up, maybe a little too hastily, and planted his feet on the floor.

"You take the bed. I've slept on this floor enough times. A few more can't hurt." He rummaged through the bottom of the dresser and retrieved the thick woollen blanket he usually reserved for winter.

"Are you sure?" She asked. She sounded concerned for him. Concerned for him sleeping on the floor? Yes. That's it. Nothing else.

"Yeah." He replied curtly, not meeting her insistent gaze. "I'm sure."

He spread the blanket generously over the floor. He had slept on the floor behind a bar, in a soggy trench and even once in the boot of a Motorcar. The floor was perfectly acceptable for him. He covered his bed in a second sheet, the cleanest he could find, but he couldn't tell if he did it for Elizabeth's sake or his own, wanting to keep her away from his filth. He could hear her undressing behind him, yawning with a sweet little gasp. The poor girl had been through more than he had.

'And she handled it like a pro.' he thought with a small, prideful grin.

He circled the room, turning off the lights as he went, while Elizabeth climbed into his bed. The springs creaked softly under her tiny frame. When he turned around she was under the sheet, but he could see her lying on her stomach, stretching her neck so she could look out the window to the city below. Booker took off his shirt and all but collapsed into his makeshift bed. He had barely kicked his shoes off before sleep started to overtake him.

"Booker?"

"Hmmm?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Hmmm."

"After…Daisy….back on the First Lady…"

Booker's eyes snapped open and he sat up. No. Not this. He had allowed himself to let it slide, but he had been doing everything he could to block the memory from surfacing. She had better learn to do the same if this was going to work out.

"Elizabeth." He looked her in the eye as best as he could in the dark. The city outside afforded him some light to see her face where she lay on his bed. He spoke with calmness, authority and just a little bit of anger. "Listen to me. What happened back on there, wasn't right. Ok?"

"I know, but…"

"It was barely right then, it sure as hell ain't right now. I didn't know, and neither did you." He could see her face, her sweet expressive face. He thought he could see her holding back the hurt he was putting her through. But she had to hear it. That's what his job was now. He needed to show her love, but for that to happen she had to shut that memory away somewhere she couldn't let it surface again. But the look on her face broke his heart and made him feel like a failure.

"So…let's just forget about it." He slouched a bit, letting some of the authority slip away, but the anger lingered. He hoped she could see that it wasn't directed at her. "You understand."

"I understand."


	2. Chapter 2

_She felt sick to her stomach. Shaking. But strangely...giddy. Like someone had just told her a funny joke and she was trying not to laugh. But it wasn't laughter that was threatening to take her over._

"_I can't explain it, Booker." She crossed her arms across her chest and rubbed her shoulders. She could feel the goosebumps through the fabric of her newly acquired jacket. "I just feel...off."_

_Of course you feel off, you just killed someone._

_Booker's gaze turned from concern to realization, and finally settled on a conflicted grimace as he ran his hands through his hair. He briefly turned to walk away from her, but changed his mind and turned back, letting out an exasperated sigh. Was he mad at her for killing Daisy? Did he even have the right to be mad at her? He had killed so many people as they ran across Columbia, but she was the first to stab someone in the back. Booker always killed face to face._

"_Booker..." She started, hugging her arms around her trembling body. "Booker, what's wrong?" She wasn't sure if she meant with her or him. Whatever he was thinking, he seemed to settle on a plan. He walked towards her and rested his hands on her shoulders. Was that her still trembling, or was it him?_

"_Ok, Elizabeth.. What you're feeling now is normal, ok?"_

_She nodded silently at him._

"_You just took a life, and you've seen more than your fair share of death out here. Your body just...wants to know it's really alive, you understand?"_

_Again she nodded, although she wasn't too sure what he was saying. The theory made sense, but what did he mean by 'alive'? Surely her body would know she was still breathing._

"_Do you trust me?" He asked. She nodded again, after a brief pause. She couldn't explain why, but she did. She trusted him. She felt some of the tension in her body melt away as his hands travelled down to her hips. Despite everything she knew about him, she felt safer the closer he got to her._

"_Then let me take care of you."_

_She felt him grip her hips and suddenly she was falling backwards, landing on a hard, unforgiving surface. The room got colder and her anxiety spiked. His towering presence left her, and all she had was a handful of strangers staring at her over the top of their surgical masks. She hated their eyes. She hated how they looked at her. She tried to move but her arms were pinned to the bench below her._

"_Get away from me." She warned them. They took no notice. Even without them moving she felt the pinpricks sink into her flesh. Whatever they injected into her made her skin sizzle. The pain washed over her body like a terrifying wave and she bit back a scream._

"_He won't come for you."_

Elizabeth sat straight up from her sleep, barely biting back a shriek. The unfamiliar place she found herself in took her by surprise. Was she still in the Lab? Was this her new tower? Is this where her father kept her now that she had run from him?

A soft grunt from the floor brought a sense of security to her. She looked down through slightly moist eyes to the figure sprawled out beneath her. She could just make out his sleeping face though the moonlight coming in from the window above where he lay. There he was. Her father. Her real father. Not the imposter that imprisoned her, the one who sold her. Reality slowly came back to her. She was in New York. She had fled Columbia. Songbird was dead. Comstock was dead. She was a normal girl now, living in a normal apartment. She felt a slight pang of anxiety as she looked around and saw no tears. She would never see them again, would she? She had given that all up. Her anxiety waned as she looked back down at Booker. That's why she gave it all up. This wonderful mess of a man sprawled out on the floor had inspired such hope in her that she had given up her almost godlike powers to be with him.

After her nightmare of being back at Comstock house, she wanted to be closer to him. She spent months in that place, every day waiting for him to break her out. In the quieter times, when the doctors left her alone, she would lay as still as she could and listen for him. The sounds of an approaching Booker were hard to miss, and she kept waiting for the gunfire and the shouts of wounded and dying men. In those last few days before her 'surgery', she had begun to entertain the thought that maybe he wasn't coming for her at all. Half out of faith in Booker and half out of spite for Comstock, Elizabeth never truly let go of her hope.

She had gone from a lab rat to a normal girl in a matter of days, and the man she had to thank for that was lying uncomfortably on the floor. She threw off the bedcovers and lightly put her feet on the floor. She padded over to where he lay and crawled next to him. In his sleepy state he submitted to her intrusion, lightly covering her with the blanket and planting a small, sleepy kiss on the back of her head as she moulded her back into his front. Happily content with her new sleeping arrangement, she drifted back into a dreamless sleep.

Firm knocking on the door awoke her a few hours later. The sun was beaming down on her face and she felt Booker stir behind her. The knocking continued. Booker finally relented and climbed to his feet with a frustrated grunt. Elizabeth rubbed her eyes and rolled towards the door, just in time for Booker to open it.

"Good morning!" Mrs Robert bellowed as he opened the door. Elizabeth saw the woman's eyes scan the apartment and come to rest on her as she sat up on her knees. "So sorry to intrude!"

"Good morning, Mrs Robert!" Elizabeth chimed happily, but she felt the woman's gaze harden as she saw where Elizabeth had been sleeping on the floor in little more than her underwear.

"Good morning, Dear." She replied, her eyes scanning the rest of the room, over the bed that had obviously been slept in by someone and finally coming to land back on Booker, standing shirtless in the doorway. The look she gave him was bordering on hostile, even Elizabeth could see that. "I was just downstairs in the basement, going through my girls old things-"

"Really?" Booker sarcastically interrupted her. "You were doing that at six in the morning?"

"Yes, and I found some clothes I thought your dear girl would make some use out of."

Booker nodded with some kind of faint recognition as the large woman produced an over packed suitcase and forced it into the room.

"Thank you, Mrs Roberts. That's very kind of you!" Elizabeth had wondered how she would handle her clothing situation. The dress she had borrowed from the First Lady was torn in several places and hardly seemed appropriate. Mrs Robert had great timing.

"Some of them might be a bit big for you dear, but I'm sure we can make do. You can take them in if you want, I doubt my girls will ever wear them again."

"Very kind of you." Booker echoed Elizabeth's sentiments, although his tone suggested he felt otherwise.

"Now, if you ever feel like having a chat, dear girl, Mr Robert and I live just downstairs. You're welcome any time."

"Thank you, Mrs Robert..." Booker answered for her, attempting to close the door.

"My girls will be visiting over the winter, you must meet them if you're still in the area!"

"That sounds lovely, Mrs Robert. Thank you!" Elizabeth shouted at the woman as Booker managed to close the door. Elizabeth saw the frustration creep over his sleepy face like a weed. His hands ran through his hair and Elizabeth felt his gaze fall heavily on her.

"What are you doing down there?" He asked, striding over to his desk to retrieve a packet of cigarettes from his drawer. Elizabeth stroked her newly formed pinky finger with her thumb, a habit she felt herself developing. Was he mad at her for joining him on the floor?

"I...just wanted to sleep with you..." She admitted. No sense in lying to him, but she didn't want to tell him about the dream. She was a normal girl now. Normal girls weren't afraid of their dreams.

"Jesus, Elizabeth..." He lit the cigarette and threw the packet back in the drawer. Elizabeth stood up and scuttled over to fetch the suitcase Mrs Robert left for her.

"It was nice of Mrs Robert to give me all these clothes..." Elizabeth started to change the conversation. "I guess we didn't have time to ask Songbird to grab me a few things before he wrecked the tower, huh?"

The only response she got out of Booker was a grunt. Maybe he wasn't a morning person. Elizabeth sure was. She used to run to her window back in the tower early in the morning to watch the people make their way to their work. The skylines would start up first, just before sunrise, then the gondolas. People would pack tightly into the transports and Elizabeth would watch the hustle and bustle for just over an hour before she sadly remembered that unlike all those people out there, she had nowhere to go. She smiled to herself as she pulled out a pale pink dress. She could go anywhere she wanted today. Anywhere at all.

"This looks nice." She held up the dress to show him. Sure it was a bit big, but she could make it work. "Do you have a sewing machine? I mean, I can still wear this, but I might have to take some of these in..."

Booker sat on his desk, cigarette in hand, and looked at the dress like it was sewn by Comstock himself.

"What's the matter?" She asked.

"I can get you new clothes." Was all he said. Elizabeth stood up and began to collect her underwear from where she folded it at the foot of the bed. Her corset was ripped in a few places, as well as her stockings. The bottoms of her petticoats were in ruins, although she hoped her newly acquired dress would hide that. The slip she had worn to bed was still in fairly good condition, but she needed more than one. Although she had done her best to clean them recently, her panties were no longer in a state to be worn. She held up the pile of underwear for him to see.

"Well, you have your chance here. The case is full of dresses. I still need some more underwear."

"That's not the point."

"Well, what is the point?"

He sighed and took another drag of his cigarette. He shook his head and walked over the the corner of the room where he kept a gas stove and a small steel kettle.

"Nevermind..." He growled. "Coffee?"

She nodded and Booker made a point of turning his back to her. Elizabeth read him loud and clear and began to dress herself in what little privacy their small apartment afforded her. Her eyes fell on the boarded up door on the other side of the room. He must have done that for a reason, although Elizabeth couldn't see why he would want to keep it that way now that she was here. Especially if this was where he worked. It might make more sense to open that little room up and keep his bed in there. However, Booker was not a man who made sense and something at the back of her head was telling her to not press the issue.

"So..." He called over his shoulder, his demeanour lifting somewhat. "Where do you want to go today?"

Elizabeth felt a spark of excitement that she hadn't felt since she danced on the boardwalk back in Battleship Bay. It felt like a lifetime ago that she had been so happy. New York wasn't quite Paris, but neither was it Columbia. It still had so much that she had never seen or experienced. But she had to admit that she knew very little about what her Father's city had to offer. As much as she wanted to see every sight there was, she was content to just walk around and do normal everyday things. That was truly the most exciting thing for her right now.

"Oh well, we can go and find me some more clothes..." She started. "Then we have to get some food and then maybe something that I can use to clean this place for you...oh, then can we go and have dinner somewhere? Or coffee? Is there a market around? What about a library?"

"Ok, slow down there." He chuckled, quickly glancing over at her to make sure she was dressed before turning around and handing her her coffee. "The Sodom Below only has so many hours in the day..."

"I know, I know." She smiled sweetly. "What do you think we should do?"

"Well, today should be a supply run. We have a bit of cash, so we should use it while we have it."

She smiled gratefully at him while she sipped her coffee and nibbled at one of the rolls Mrs Robert gave her yesterday evening. Truth be told, she was happy just being a normal person. Walking around a normal, not floating city buying groceries with her father. Shopping idly for clothes and food was a new adventure for her that she couldn't wait to set out on. Sure, she had read books that would detail the mundane tasks most people saw as a chore, but she had no real reference for what it was actually like.

"That sounds good, Mr Dewitt!" She quipped, smirking at the obvious discomfort he got out of her calling him that. "Of course we'll have to drop by a library so I can pick up a few books on ranch life."

"Smart ass."

Elizabeth sipped her coffee and stared out of the window while Booker got dressed. She could just see him out of the corner of her eye and almost had to stop herself from staring. She told herself it was mild curiosity for the male form, but Elizabeth was not a great liar like her Father. Not even to herself. The first part of her dream came back to her as she turned her gaze back down at the street. Before it descended into a nightmare, she had been dreaming about what happened between them on the First Lady. Those few confusing but breathtaking moments he gave her that took her away from the chaos. Those few moments where her distant, serious protector turned into a gentle man who held her and whispered sweet things in her ear.

It wasn't right, he said. Just forget about it. How am I supposed to forget about that? She wondered.

When Booker wandered back into her field of view he was dressed in a dark brown pair of trousers and a light coloured shirt, looking as handsome as ever.

"You ready?" He asked.

"Sure."

"You ok?"

"Yeah. Of course."

"It's no Columbia out there."

"Is that good or bad?" She asked.

"Both. You'll like it. And if you don't then you'll fit right in."

She finished her coffee and headed with Booker towards the door.

"Not expecting any clients to turn up today while we're gone?" She asked, gesturing at his business name stencilled on the door. From far away the sign looked professional, but up close Elizabeth saw how the letters were cracked and peeling away from the glass. He would have to replace them soon.

"Yeah, that hasn't been a problem for a while." He replied, locking the door and pocketing the keys.

Elizabeth peeked through to the administration area and waved to Mrs Robert who was sweeping the lounge area. Booker herded her to the left and out into the street.

The smell, the heat and the noise of a bustling city all hit her at once. It was relatively early, but there was still so many people rushing about. As Booker led her down the street she could hear everything from jovial greetings to vile curses. The smell of what she later learned was horse manure was mixed with freshly baking bread and smoke. Everywhere she looked she saw something that piqued her curiosity and her brain almost went into overload trying to decipher everything that was going on around her.

"Stay close." Booker called from just behind her as she overtook him. She couldn't help but regress back to that girl who was just liberated from a lifetime of confinement. The guilt of what happened with the Vox, the pain of what she went through in Comstock house and all the knowledge of the universe she briefly gained then lost all melted away in the excitement of walking down the street.

She was no one's lamb down here. She was no one's ticket out of debt. She was no specimen. No heir. There was no pressure to be or not be someone. She could be whoever or whatever she wanted. Right now she just wanted to be a normal girl, in a pale pink dress that was slightly too large for her, running down the street with an exasperated man hot on her heels.


	3. Chapter 3

During his day with Elizabeth, Booker learnt two things. The first was that she was really truly glad to be out of that tower and out of Columbia. Every small, daily task that most people either hated or felt nothing for, she saw as a grand adventure. She circled the clothing boutiques and markets in the same way he imagined he looked when he first arrived at Columbia. What is this magical place? What are all these strange things? He couldn't help but smile at her all day. Her happiness was infectious, and he couldn't think of the last time he truly enjoyed himself like this. Just him and his beautiful daughter. He liked the way she gawked at the horses as they pulled carriages down the street. A flying city was normal for her, but a horse drawn carriage was a marvel. He brought her her first cafe made coffee at lunch, and Elizabeth asked the waiter a dozen questions about what it was like being a waiter. As endearing as Booker found it, the surly waiter almost took her questioning for sarcasm until Booker cut in and explained that she was from 'the country.'

The second thing Booker learnt, and it was something he always suspected, was that women's clothing was incredibly expensive. He silently began to thank Ethel for her rude assumption that Booker was unable to clothe his own daughter, because it almost turned out to be true. After purchasing the bare basics a large chunk of his cash was gone. With the rent money he got back off Bill Bob, he had managed to buy Elizabeth some much needed underwear, shoes and a couple of nightgowns, a few days worth of food and some basic cleaning supplies. Pawning what little Silver Eagles he had left got him enough to buy a new basin, much larger than the others he had back in his apartment, making up some excuse about her needing more water to wash with. Elizabeth also found a sewing kit that was reasonably priced, insisting that a machine wasn't really necessary to fix the dresses Mrs Robert gave her. After that he had a modest sum left for whatever emergencies he might face between now and whenever he managed to earn some more cash, whenever that might be. He never had a reliable stream of work to count on. He had a little something in the works, something he had abandoned in favour of going to Columbia, but he was trying not to think about it today. It wasn't work he could be proud of.

He managed to herd Elizabeth back to the apartment by sunset. Every time he attempted to lead her home earlier in the afternoon, she saw something else she wanted to see. They walked by a man making bread in the window of a bakery. Then they had to go into the bakery to talk to the man about making bread. Then she saw a group of children playing hopscotch on the side of the road. Booker talked her out of joining the game, but that didn't stop her from asking the children how to play. When they passed a pet store, Booker thought he would never get home, but Elizabeth seemed upset by the cages that the animals were kept in, and wanted to leave quicker than he would have imagined.

Elizabeth gave Bill Bob a friendly wave as they lugged their shopping back into the building and climbed the steps back to the apartment. Booker saw the old man give her a smile that he only reserved for the sweet and innocent. The look Booker received in stark contrast, felt both an admonishment and a warning.

Don't fuck it up, Son. The look said. I'm watching you. Booker nodded and climbed the stairs after Elizabeth. He wasn't planning of fucking anything up. Tomorrow he was going to start looking into some good, honest work. He used to get some decent cases back when he first started. He didn't know if his reputation was able to overcome twenty years of taking the seediest, dirtiest jobs New York had to offer, but he had to try. Dewitt Investigations had to go legitimate.

First, Booker had to take care of a little problem. The men had been back. Booker saw the car out of the corner of his eye as he returned with Elizabeth. It drove off as he entered the building. Just a warning, was all. Just reminding him that they were still around, waiting. He would have to take care of that real soon. Before they thought to get Elizabeth involved. Right now, she was just a woman who was seen once with him. Maybe they thought she was just nobody, just a fling. Just a silly young girl getting herself involved with an older man. As much as he hated thinking of her like that, he hoped that's all they thought she was. But if they kept seeing her around, well...they might start getting ideas. Booker had worked with these men long enough to know that they didn't mess around.

They found a package wrapped up neatly in front of his door. Booker nearly panicked, but he saw that it was meant for Elizabeth. A package from Ethel filled with womanly things. Booker could have done without the information, but Elizabeth gladly held it up for him to see and happily explained to him what they were for. Thank you Elizabeth, he thought. Daddy doesn't need to know about this...

When they entered the apartment, Booker took to cleaning off the makeshift kitchen, storing the food as high as he could to keep the rats from nibbling on it.

"Where can I put all this?" Elizabeth asked, holding up her bags of clothes and gesturing to the suitcase Ethel had given her. Booker looked about the room, and gestured to the trunk at the foot of his bed.

"Just tip my stuff out of that. It'll do for now, until I can get you a dresser of your own."

Elizabeth nodded and unlatched the trunk. Instead of tipping it out, she methodically removed the contents and searched the apartment for somewhere to put almost each individual item. The clothes she found went in his dresser. Some old paperwork went in his desk. She threw out some old newspapers that he confirmed he no longer needed. Some old mementos were arranged on his previously bare shelf, almost instantly making the place feel a bit more like home.

'She gets that from her mother...' He mused, but he shut out that thought before it got too painful and confusing. He had to avoid seeing the similarities between Elizabeth and her mother. A woman he barely knew when he impregnated her on the second date. A woman who was probably cursing him straight to hell for what he had done. She had been a sweet girl, at first. But a few months with his young self took it's toll on her. He remembered the nights he would come home late, drunker than he should be with a new, heavily pregnant bride waiting for him at home. Although he could no longer recall what she looked like, he still remembered the look on her face on those nights. Like she was scared of her own future with this man. The poor girl didn't even get to have a future, thanks to him. Then to add insult to injury, he rejected the child she gave her life to provide him with.

Gonna be different this time, He told himself as he started to put together a small dinner for them both. I'm gonna be a different man. I'll try to make her hate me a little less from her grave.

Elizabeth lit the room as the sun disappeared behind the buildings. They ate their dinner at Booker's desk, using it as a makeshift dining table. Elizabeth chattered in between bites, talking about everything she had seen during the day. Booker ate quietly, occasionally chiming in to agree with her or ask her a question. He wasn't used to having someone to talk to over meals, but then again, neither did she. She ate every meal up till this one alone in her tower.

"This must be new for you." He casually mentioned during a comfortable silence. "Eating a meal, I mean. With another person."

"Yeah. I guess it is." She tilted her head to stare down at her plate, but Booker noticed the smile that crossed her face as she did so. "But really, doing anything with another person is new for me."

"What does it feel like?" He asked. "Being free?"

"It's like...being born, I guess. I didn't really have a life before. Now I do. All that waiting, all that dreaming...now I get a chance to turn it into something real. Something normal."

Booker turned his attention back to his empty plate, feeling no small amount of guilt for the role he played in her confinement. Both roles. Just as he was responsible for himself handing her over to Robert Lutece, he couldn't help but feel responsible for Comstock's actions as well. He was one split second decision away from becoming him, after all.

"I guess I could ask you the same thing." Elizabeth asked. "How does it feel to eat across from another person for once?"

"What makes you think I always ate alone?"

"It's a wild guess, Booker." She said with a smirk.

"Yeah, well, it ain't wrong." Truth be told, Booker neglected to eat on any defined schedule. He ate when he was hungry and when he remembered. Planning a meal for one person just got too fucking sad for him a long time ago. "But it's nice. I think I can get used to it."

"So..." Elizabeth said after a small silence. "What would you usually do in the evenings?"

Booker scoffed. You don't wanna know, baby...

"Well, I wouldn't be here. I would be down at the bar. Maybe even Finnigans, if I was feelin lucky."

"What's Finnigans?"

"Finn calls it a bar, but there's some gaming tables out the back. No one goes there for the atmosphere, that's for sure."

"You would go there every night?" She asked, crunching away on a piece of carrot.

"Yeah. Maybe even Mick's, across the park. Depends on who kicked me out first."

"Oh...you would never stay in?"

"Sometimes, yeah."

"What would you do when you stayed in?"

"Jesus, are you collecting information for somebody?" He snapped, instantly regretting his outburst when he saw the look on her face.

"I'm sorry..." She lowered her eyes to her food. "I shouldn't pry like that, should I?"

"No, shit, I'm sorry. You're just askin'." But I can't answer, Elizabeth. Your father would get drunk, jerk off then pass out. End of evening. Those are his only indoor hobbies. He was nothing before you came back. Don't ask questions about him.

"Look, what do you want to do?" He asked, getting the attention off himself. "Huh? What do you want to get up to this evening? Didn't you have some dresses to take in?"

She nodded and forced a small smile.

"Well I'll set you up somewhere to take care of that while I go over this place and start clearing out some of the junk." The more he looked around his apartment, the more he couldn't believe how long he kept it like this. Some of the horses on these racing forms had been dead for years.

Elizabeth already knew her own measurements, all she had to do was measure the dresses and start sewing. Booker watched her out of the corner of his eye while he filled an old hessian bag with the junk he had put off getting rid of for too long. She picked out a few dresses that took her fancy to start with and sat cross legged on his bed, humming to herself as she worked. Booker had to stop himself from staring. Her newly developed pinky finger still stuck out uselessly as she worked. He guessed it would take some time getting used to it. Still, her sweet little hands worked tirelessly as she quickly stitched the fabric together. Ethel had taken care to only give Elizabeth the more demure of the girl's dresses. Booker remembered Ethel's daughters, New York women through and through. The older one lewdly propositioned him one night after a new years eve party in the building. It was only the potential wrath of Bill Bob that stopped him from taking her up on the offer. Booker had to bite back a gulp as he realised Elizabeth might be in possession of that very dress she wore that night.

How long before she starts to talk to guys like that? She's a grown woman now, even if she is a little stunted. She's pretty though, everyone says so. How long before other men start to notice her, huh? How are you gonna handle that? You gonna explain to her what those guys want from her? Jesus, does she even know? His devious mind snapped back to the First Lady, thinking of how inexperienced she really was, but he reigned the memory in and slammed it back below his conscious where it belonged.

You didn't know. Granted, you should probably not feel up random women when you had a daughter unaccounted for, but still. You didn't know. She didn't know.

And now you do. So reign it in.

"What do you think?" Elizabeth interrupted his thoughts, holding up her newly sewed dress. It was caramel coloured, with brown embellishments and a small hint of fur around the lowcut collar. He thought it was the type of dress he might have seen on one of the ladies that accompanied some of the richer folk that somehow ended up at Finns. It would look beautiful on her, anything would. What could he say? How did a father react to his daughter's appearance?

"It's nice." Was all he said before turning back to place the hessian bag full of rubbish next to the door. Elizabeth started on her next dress. Light green, with white lace. A bit more conservative than the last.

"Listen, I'm gonna go out tomorrow and get some work sorted out." He told her. "So I'm gonna turn out some lights and try get some sleep."

"Sure. Do you want me to go downstairs and do this?"

"No, you just stay right there. I can sleep with the light on." He turned off all but the light closest to the bed and arranged his own makeshift camp. He quietly undressed and settled in. "You gonna stay up in that bed tonight?"

"Do you want me to?"

No

"Yeah. The floor's no good for you."

He dozed off while listening to her humming. At some point he vaguely registered her moving around and rummaging through her trunk, probably to retrieve a nightgown and get dressed for bed, but she didn't go to sleep right away. He wasn't sure how long she stayed up for. He dozed on and off, enjoying every little waking moment when his eyes fluttered open and he saw her sitting there, absorbed in her task. God, he completely forgot what it was like to have company in his shitty little apartment. Just knowing she was there seemed to sooth the edgy man. As much as he distrusted the Lutece's, he silently thanked them for giving him this one chance. Even as he drifted off to sleep, hand on his heart he didn't feel like drinking, which was his usual nightly ritual. He couldn't even fathom walking into Finn's right now for a game. He didn't want the booze, the easy women or the cards. He wanted nothing more than this chance and he finally drifted off to sleep content in the knowledge that he finally had something worth having again.

He slept blissfully, dreaming of nothing much at all. He was woken up several hours later with Elizabeth squirming her way underneath the covers with him. She curled her back into him, and in his sleepy haze he couldn't help but drape his arm over her and pull her tighter. You strange woman, he thought. You don't need to come down here with me. He gently stroked her hair as he dozed for a few minutes, but she remained conspicuously still.

"Booker?"

"Hmmm?"

"I want you to know that I don't feel bad."

"Hmmm?"

"About...about the First Lady...I don't...I don't hate you for it."

He stayed still. Leave it be, Elizabeth. Just leave it be. Forget it. Let it go. It doesn't matter. I didn't know. You didn't know.

"...and I don't want you to hate me." She whispered finally.

Is that what you think, Elizabeth? Do you think I hate you for what happened? I should have kept my hands to myself. Lesson learnt. Let's be thankful it didn't go too far. Let's thank Songbird for crashing into us before I had a chance to plant the seed for some serious regret. Let's be thankful that I can just tell myself I did it for your benefit and not my own, because you weren't feeling yourself.

"Booker? Say something..."

"Go to sleep, baby." He kissed the back of her head, happy to pretend that they weren't having this conversation. Happy to ignore that nagging part of his brain that was telling him he was holding her inappropriately. Happy to ignore that lazy heat building in his groin. Happy to ignore how the darkness and the night acted as a blanket underneath which he could let his senses react to his daughter like she was something a little bit more. He would shut it all away in the morning and it could join the rest of those dark thoughts and memories that festered underneath the surface.

"Ok...Goodnight, Booker."


	4. Chapter 4

"I didn't say you couldn't leave the room, just please don't leave the building." Elizabeth watched her father's eyes angrily narrow at her in the mirror as he spoke. He stood over the basin, shirt open and untucked, suspenders hanging at his sides, shaving off a weeks worth of facial hair. Even with what little references Elizabeth had, she could tell that grooming wasn't something Booker did often.

"What about just down to the Cafe?" She pleaded.

"No. Not even to the Cafe."

"What if Mr or Mrs Robert invite me out."

"They wont, and no."

Elizabeth scoffed in disbelief as she sat back down on the bed. He had to know that Elizabeth had a particular aversion to being confined. Of all the people in the world, Booker Dewitt had to be the one person who understood that. He broke her out of her tower, out of the hell that was Comstock House and out of Columbia. How could he not see how unfair this is?

"This isn't Columbia, Booker. No one is going to hunt me down."

"No, it's not Columbia. It's New York. And yes, Elizabeth, they might."

"So I'm supposed to just stay here all the time? Never leave here without you to hold my hand?"

"For now, yes."

"Booker, this is not fair. I'm a grown woman."

"Yeah, you are. But there's still a lot you don't know about the world, and I've gotta keep you outta trouble."

Elizabeth couldn't believe what she was hearing. Did she truly not have her freedom yet? Was she being unreasonable, wanting to go outside on her own? She wouldn't get lost, she wouldn't get into trouble. She just wanted to know she had the option to leave the building if she wanted. Normal girls didn't get confined like this, did they?

"How is this better than what Comstock gave me?" She blurted out, immediately regretting it as she saw Booker's reaction in the mirror. His eyes dropped and his brow narrowed in anger. Shit, that was the worst thing to say. Say something to him. Anything. Just make it better. "I'm sorry...I just..."

She stopped when he threw the razor into their new basin where it landed with a splash and a clink. He removed what was left of the lather with his towel and turned to face her. Elizabeth could see him struggling to push the anger below the surface. As he walked over to her she was absurdly reminded of how handsome he was now that he had shaved. He dropped to his knee in front of her, taking her small hands into his.

"Listen..." He started. "I know you still have so much more to experience. But there's a lot going on out there and I would hate for you to get caught up in something you don't quite understand."

"Booker, I just want to go out on my own. Just down the street. That's all."

"One day, you will. Real soon, I promise. But I have to go and take care of some things today, and I can't worry about you. Promise me you will stay in the building?"

"You don't have to worry about me."

"But I will anyway. Promise me?"

Elizabeth sighed at him. She believed he was being unreasonable, but there was a bizarre sort of affection to it. Did Comstock worry like this? Was this his reasoning? She couldn't imagine that it was. She looked into her fathers deep green eyes. There was worry in there all right. She was still learning how to read people, and he had been her first subject.

"I promise." She didn't know if she said it as an apology or as a truce, but she meant it. Booker stood back up, doing up his shirt and adjusting his braces as he crossed the room to use the mirror to attempt to tame his unruly hair into something respectable.

"So...what are you going to go today?" Elizabeth asked, desperate change to subject. She had a vague notion of what her father did for a living, but she was still not entirely sure what it really involved. She guessed it wasn't all rescuing strange girls from giant mechanical birds and religious zealots. She had read about the fictional careers of detectives in her books, but she couldn't trust them to give her an accurate representation of her father's career. They had steered her wrong before.

"Down to the courthouse. I have a buddy down there that might be able to come through with some work."

"What type of work?"

"Surveillance, hopefully."

"Hopefully?" Surveillance did not seem like Booker's ideal career path. Of all the things she imagined him doing, staying still was not one of them.

"Yeah. For clean work, it pays well enough. Boring as shit though, but I'll live."

"How well does the not so clean work pay?"

"Well enough."

"Would you go back to it? If you had to?"

Booker sighed, giving up on his hair. He brushed off a jacket he had draped over the back of his office chair and shrugged into it before crossing back over to Elizabeth and planting a peck on the top of her head. Don't want to answer, huh? That's an answer in itself, Booker.

"I'll be back this afternoon. Don't answer the door for anyone."

"Not even if it's a potential client?"

"Especially if it's a potential client. You don't want to be around those people."

"Ok. Good luck." She said softly, smiling back up at him.

When the door clicked closed Elizabeth looked around the suddenly cold and empty apartment. How could he live here all alone for so long? She supposed he had Mr and Mrs Robert, but it didn't seem like it would be enough. While the pair regarded her with kind words and smiles, she saw the looks they gave him, and it wasn't kind. Elizabeth knew all about loneliness, and in this place Booker had been almost as isolated as she was. He had confined himself up here, just as she had been.

She got to her feet and walked around, listening to the sounds of the city. She still didn't truly understand Booker's concern, but she meant what she promised. She would stay inside for him. She doubted he would have worked so hard to get her out of Columbia just to lock her up again. The very thought of what he went through sent a pang of guilt through her. How could she compare him to Comstock? He was the reason she wasn't lonely any more. But still...he had to understand how badly she despised confinement.

We gotta start healing some wounds, Father. Lets start from the bottom up.

Elizabeth made herself a coffee and rummaged through the trunk to find something suitable to wear. She planned to clean their apartment from top to bottom and she needed to find something that would be easy to wear and easy to clean. She found a handful of dark fabric and rummaged through to find the rest of the garment. _Hello, you._ She thought as she pulled out a fairly simple looking, calf long black dress. It looked a bit fancy, with a low cut bodice and large collar with black beads sewn in an intricate pattern. But it was dark, and it would be easy to clean in. She quickly dressed, forgoing her corset, as she needed a second person to tie her into it and if she was going to be cooped up all day, she might as well go without the trouble.

She looked out the window and down onto the street as she finished her coffee. She had hoped her days of staring out a window, longing to go outside, were over. She knew he was right, in a way. She was barely a week out of isolation, although it felt like a lifetime ago that she was in that tower and trapped in her fake father's house. There was still so much for her to learn. She just had to trust him. She had to give him time.

Even with what Booker bought the day before there was not enough to clean the apartment with. A quick glance around the apartment and Elizabeth found no broom, no sponge, no cleaning brushes and hardly any towels.

I can't leave the building, but I can go downstairs.

She jumped up and retrieved the bucket Mrs Robert gave her and started down the stairs. Mr Robert was sitting where Booker said he always sat, and he gave her a warm smile when he saw her.

"There she is! How are you sweet girl?"

"I'm doing well, Mr Robert." She replied with a smile. "Got a big day of cleaning ahead of me."

"Yeah, I bet you do." Elizabeth didn't miss the sour note in his voice. "Been on that boy to keep that place clean for years. Gave up somewhere along the line..."

"Yeah, he's not one for cleaning messes. Can I borrow a broom? Maybe something to scrub the floor with?"

"Of course. Ethel keeps all that stuff in the closet next to the washroom. Help yourself to whatever you need."

"Thank you. Where is Mrs Robert today?" She hoped maybe she could see the kind old woman for a bit. Maybe they could have coffee and chat.

"Down at the market. I saw your daddy leave earlier. Where's he off too?"

"Lookin for some work down at the courthouse."

"Down at the courthouse..." Mr Robert laughed as he repeated her. Was that funny? Was Booker not going to find any work down there?

"What's wrong?" She asked.

"Ah, it's nothin'. How is your father treating you, anyway?" Elizabeth saw the change in his face as he asked. His eyes narrowed in concern and his mouth thinned out until it was nothing but a straight line.

"He's treating me well. We went out yesterday. He took me all over the city...it was a nice day. New York is amazing."

He smiled again, but it was different than the other smiles he gave her. It was...sadder.

"Well that's good to hear. If you ever need anyone to talk to, me and Mrs Robert are always here."

Why do people keep saying that to me? She gave Mr Robert her thanks and walked back to the washroom. She filled up her bucket and rummaged through the closet, filling a small canvas bag with what supplies she thought she might need. She grabbed the broom and made her way back upstairs. Smiling at Mr Robert as she passed him.

Elizabeth wrestled with the cobwebs that were dominating the ceiling, cleaned down the walls as best as she could and scrubbed the windows until she could clearly see the city below. Her mind wandered all day as she hummed and scrubbed, only stopping briefly to have some lunch. She had to run back downstairs to the washroom once or twice to empty and refill the bucket. She greeted Mr Robert as she hurried past him. Sometimes he replied with a greeting, and sometimes he replied with that sad smile again. Something about it wouldn't leave her as she returned to the room and started to de clutter the floor. It wasn't a false smile, faked for the sake of being polite. It was real, but it wasn't happy. It was something in his eyes.

Elizabeth had swept and started scrubbing the floor before her mind drifted back to Comstock house. She thought of the nurses that used to wheel her to and from her various tests and appointments and she realised what the look Mr Robert gave her meant. It was pity. She saw it every day in the nurses' eyes. She even saw it in Mrs Robert's eyes the day before. This poor girl living this nightmare, it said. Why has she been cursed with this?

Mr and Mrs Robert pitied her. Why? Was Mr Robert simply sad that she had to spend all day cleaning? No. That wasn't it. It was something deeper. Did they pity her for being back in Booker's life? Was that it? She couldn't see what else it could possibly be. They had known her father for years. Mr Robert would know more than anyone what she was getting herself into, and he pitied her.

Actually, she told herself, you knew exactly what you were getting into, didn't you? Back when you could see the doors. You knew how this ended, Elizabeth, and you gave it all up to jump right through that last tear with him. The thought comforted her from Mr Roberts assumptions about Booker. Sure, he knew the man her father used to be. But Elizabeth had seen the man he would become. Even if she could no longer remember what she saw behind the door.

Her mind drifted as she cleaned. Her eyes fell onto the boarded up door. She had already remembered what was behind it. The memory had come back to her last night, before she climbed back onto the floor to be with Booker. Behind that door was the crib she had slept in as an infant. Last night she had the dream again, the one where they were on the First Lady. But instead of Comstock house, Elizabeth ended up in the tiny little room with the crib angled awkwardly in the corner. She had two simultaneous memories of being in this room, both looking up from inside the crib and standing over it as a grown woman. She woke up with the memory still fresh in her mind. Not only the thought of her young self lying alone in the crib, but the feeling from the first half of her dream, when his hands roamed over her skin. That's what you're hiding from me, Booker. You can't look at the crib. You can't look at something that will remind you of my role as your daughter, can you?

The most uneasy sense of guilt had filled her last night after the dream as she looked down at her father. Guilt because she knew she didn't feel nearly as bad about their indiscretion as he did. She had loved the feeling of his hands running over her exposed flesh as he pulled up her skirt. She still got goosebumps when she recalled the feeling of his fingers first touching the outside of her underwear. The heat of his breath on her neck as he held her close and whispered what he was doing to her, talking her through her first sexual experience. Asking her if she had ever touched herself back in the tower. Asking her if it felt good. She had treasured it when it happened and she continued to treasure it now. Elizabeth had had vague, detached experiences with her body back in the tower, but ultimately lacked any extrasensory stimulation to truly fuel her desire.

But with Booker's hands roaming over her, his scent making her feel dizzy and his voice filling her ears, the result had been nothing like she could ever imagine. She vividly remembered how she grabbed at every available surface of him when she approached her peak. She remembered wrapping her legs around him in the most unladylike fashion when she started to cry out. She remembered him gently lowering her back on to the ground as she fought to control her breath. She only wished she had more time to bask in the calm, floaty feeling for a bit longer before Songbird was called and she was dragged back into the hell her reality had become.

It was barely right then, it sure as hell ain't right now. That's what he said. Block it out, he had told her. She had a theoretical knowledge that family members didn't have sexual experience with each other. It wasn't accepted in polite society. But neither was killing people. Neither was gambling your way into poverty. Neither was drinking until you blacked out. While he was not proud of doing any of those things, Booker still didn't try to hide from it. He had been trying to board up that memory of them on the first lady, just as he boarded up her crib. Get it out of the way. Don't talk about it. Don't even look at it. Don't deal with it. But Elizabeth differed from her father in that way. She had to deal with it. She wanted to keep it. It was her first experience with a man, and she loved it.

When she was first taken to Comstock House, they kept her awake for days. Songbird set her down, and the doctors came right out to silently usher her to a small, white cell despite her loud and somewhat violent objections. The lights stayed on all day and night and someone would come and bang loudly on her door roughly every hour, although she had quickly begun to lose track of time. Eventually the nurses came for her and took her to a room where the doctors awaited. One proceeded with a physical exam while the other asked her a series of inane questions. Although she refused to answer any of them, the doctor persisted. All too quickly, the questions started to concern Booker. Have you ever seen him before he came to the tower? Did he force you to leave? Did he ever put his hands on you in a threatening manner? Did he attempt to or succeed in having intercourse with you? Elizabeth very nearly answered him when he asked her that. She nearly told him all about what they had done, purely out of spite. She almost wanted to lie and tell them that yes, he had taken her virginity. Elizabeth knew that it would in no way stop Comstock from whatever he had planned, but she just wanted the lie to get under his skin. The False Shepherd deflowered your fake daughter, your little lamb, and she loved every second of it.  
>Instead she kept quiet. That memory belonged to her and Booker and these men were entitled to nothing from her. Not a damn thing. Not even her spite. The questions went on for hours, the doctor repeating himself time and time again. Eventually her stubbornness won the day and she was wheeled back to her room. It wasn't until she was returned to her cell that they turned off the lights and let her sleep. It was the thought of him that helped her sleep every night she was there. She would hug herself tightly and remember how it felt to be held by him. Each night she would tell herself that it would not be long before he would hold her again.<p>

And as she scrubbed down the floor, she decided that she wanted Booker to come to terms with what they did. The memory comforted her and saved her, it wasn't fair that he hated it so much over something they didn't even know about. She wanted so badly to help him. To make him open all those boarded up doors and help him put himself back together. That's why she had joined him on the floor after her dream, assuring him that there was no bad blood from her end, and she wanted there to be none on his.

Even now as she looked over the apartment and admired her days work, she thought about it. She hummed while she washed her hands, and thought about how his had worked her body. She was about to strip off her dress and start washing herself when she heard him outside the door.

'We're gonna have to invest in a modesty screen,' she thought. She turned to greet her father, but stopped as she saw the look on his face. His expression turned from neutral to vulnerable to angry in a matter of seconds before he said the last thing she expected to hear come out of his mouth.

"Elizabeth, take off that god damned dress."


	5. Chapter 5

When Booker reached Finn's, the men were already prepared for him. Must have tailed him from the apartment. He felt terrible for locking her up all over again, but Booker believed Elizabeth when she promised she wouldn't go outside, although it didn't stop him from worrying. He knew Bill Bob would be straight on any strange face that tried to climb those stairs, but he knew that if the men wanted to get into his apartment, there was no stopping them. They needed to keep believing there was nothing of value up there and he needed to not give them a reason to need to go searching in the first place.

Two men met him at the entrance and silently escorted him to the back room. Three more men awaited him, all sitting around a card game that was in progress. The man he had come to see sat in the middle, flanked by two of his goons. To his distaste, Booker recognised them both. Reimbald sat to the man's left, as stoic and stony as ever. Reimbald was the true muscle. If someone needed to be removed from the face of the Earth, they sent in Reimbald. Peters, a skinny ferret of a man with only every second tooth still in his head sat to his right. When you wanted someone to feel sickening terror, you were sent Peters. Peters was the type of man that not every mob would admit to having. A rabid dog they fed scraps from the table. Feral, but he belonged. Right now he was shooting Booker a gut churning grin and raising his eyebrows to Reimbald in reference to some inside joke that Booker no doubt was the punch line in.

But Booker ignored them. The only man who mattered in this room sat directly across the table, as dead eyed and hateful as Booker had ever seen him.

"Quincy." Booker offered as a greeting.

"Dewitt." The man barked. "I don't like waiting."

"Well, I had no intention of making you wait. Something unexpected came up." Peters let out a high pitched string of chuckles at Booker's comment. Another inside joke, it seemed. "We've got business to attend to here, let's not waste any more time."

"What could be so important that a man would risk his life like this?" Quincy asked, his voice sounding like an axe grinding. Yeah, he wasn't going to let it go so easily. The man loved nothing more than stewing over the slights he suffered and Booker had given him a good one. He couldn't even tell him he was on another job. Quincy would demand his cut of the take and Booker was wholly opposed to any man in this room knowing what Columbia had rewarded him with.

"It's nothing." Booker offered.

"It's always something with you, Dewitt."

"Not any more. I aim to have our business concluded before long. My co operation won't be a problem."

"That'll be the day."

"You have my word."

"Your word means nothing."

The room went silent. Booker briefly considered how well of a chance he stood against these men if it came to it. He didn't like the odds.

"I have realised that I never said these words to you, Dewitt, so here they are. This is your last chance. If you have distractions in your life that inhibit your ability to work for us, we will remove these distractions for you."

"Distractions?"

"Distractions, Dewitt. Pretty...little...dark haired...distractions." Quincy punctuated every word with the throwing down of a card. The man had himself a winning hand. The other men threw their cards face down while their employer collected his takings.

Of course they had taken notice of Elizabeth. He had to stick to his story. Can you do this Booker? Can you talk about Elizabeth like she doesn't matter to you? Is your poker face really that good? They can't know she's your daughter. That's too much leverage for these assholes to know about.

"You do not come to our meeting, and when I send men to watch your house you emerge after five days with a woman half your age. And, Dewitt. I commend your taste, even though I question hers. As a man I understand, if I were you I would still be balls deep in her even as we speak."

Peters let out another string of chuckles and Booker's gut twisted as he realised what he had been smirking about. Peters was the man who followed him yesterday. This skeevy little goon was the one who had seen him with his dear Elizabeth.

'I'll take your eyes out if you look at her for too long,' He seethed quietly.

"But as a businessman," Quincy continued. "and I am nothing if not a businessman first, Mr Dewitt, I have to wonder how serious you are. I am left to question your commitment. You missed a very important meeting, Dewitt, because of this girl. Your philandering is almost legendary, but you never missed a meeting for a piece before. Is she special to you? You couldn't tear yourself away to do your fucking job and at least try to keep yourself alive?"

"She's just some girl." He choked out. I can play along. "You're right. I got carried away."

"Hmm, well, I trust the girl must be realising her mistake. She'll leave soon enough and we can continue our partnership free of any more incidents."

"That sounds fair enough to me." He seethed just under the surface of his indifferent mask. How could he talk about her like this? Just some girl? Fuck you, Booker...

"But...if she doesn't, and we do not...we will take her out of the picture. Peters sure took a liking to her. He'll be happy to oblige, won't you Peters?"

The ferret man let out a high pitched chuckle, leering obscenely at Booker.

I'll kill you all if you lay a finger on her, you piece of shit. I don't care if it gets me killed in the process.

"I doubt she'll be much of a problem." Booker could hear the emotion in his voice, and he wasn't convinced that they didn't hear it too. "Let's just get back to business."

"I admire your newly acquired work ethic, Dewitt. You will need it tomorrow night at ten when you return."

"What's the job?"

"You will find out tomorrow night. Be sure to take good care of her before you leave...you'll be gone most of the night, and you can't have her lying awake wondering where you have gone."

Booker seethed his way out of the bar, making it two blocks before he gave in to his anger and slammed his fist against the wall. He'd had Elizabeth for less than a week, and already she was potentially in trouble with the local mob. He had to keep her hidden, at least for a few weeks. They will keep watching him for a while, he knew that. Maybe after a few successful jobs they would relent and let him go about his business during the day. But for now, he would have to keep Elizabeth under wraps and he hated himself for continuing to confine her.

How is this any better than Comstock, Booker? Hmm? Shit, at least the tower was clean. At least she wouldn't have to hide her food from rats. Fuck. What was he doing? Punching walls won't make this better. That's what old Booker would do. New Booker has to get his ass to the courthouse and find some legitimate work. Sure, Quincy would see and demand a cut, but he could undersell his payment and hopefully not be too worse off.

The courthouse was exactly how he remembered, and Stokehouse was the same pain in the ass to find as he usually was. Stokehouse was a tall, thin man who represented some of the unsavoury elements of New York. It wasn't work he would brag about, but it was legal and he had to start undoing his reputation somewhere. Being hired by an actual lawyer to work within the confines of the law was a start.

He argued with Stokehouse for a while then stormed off. He collected himself and returned for another argument. The end result was Stokehouse agreeing to one small job in a few days time. There was a witness that had gotten himself some attention. Vested interests wanted to keep the man alive, but ignorant. A real police presence was out of the question, so they had to go for the enxt best thing. He had to wait for some more information to come through, but Booker could return at the end of the week. They parted on barely amicable terms.

Booker left the courthouse, but didn't return home right away. After his meeting with Quincy, he wasn't prepared to face Elizabeth just yet. Not after hearing how they spoke of her. He needed to let off some steam for a bit. He needed to calm down. He needed a drink. It was an odd experience, to have someone to come home to. It had been a long time since he felt it. She was there, waiting for him. But she would have to wait. He needed to get the bitter taste out of his mouth.

He strode into the nearest bar and ordered a whiskey, throwing it back and immediately ordering another. Fuck Quincy, Fuck Peters and fuck that silent asshole, Reimbald as well. Sexualising Elizabeth was a very tender wound for him. He could barely handle it when the thoughts popped up on their own, having those assholes chuckle and gloat over her was almost unbearable. She was his fucking daughter, not some god damned fling to be used and discarded. Still, it was lucky that they saw her like that and he knew it. If they really knew how he felt about her...they could control him. Booker Dewitt was well fitted to the life he had been leading purely by virtue of having no one close to him to lose.

Not anymore. Handle it, Booker. Handle their shit until it's over, then never look back. Get a boring fucking job and go home every night to Elizabeth. Until she finds herself a man and leaves. You think she's gonna stay with you forever, huh?. She's gonna up and leave one day, and you'll be alone again. Back to the empty apartment and the crippling loneliness. Not gonna be easy to deal with now that you've had a taste of companionship.

That tiny devil in his head whispered. "Not if she doesn't want to go to another man..."

Booker grimaced as he threw back his second whiskey and gestured for a third. Fuck you, Quincy. Fuck you. He tried to collect himself. This train of thought was headed somewhere he was not prepared to go. The waters between them were muddy right now and those assholes had put these thoughts into his head that were only making it worse.

Anna. Remember Anna? Remember the little baby that you brought home all alone from the hospital? Remember how she cried? Remember how you did nothin to help her stop? Remember all that? Does that make you feel like getting your dick out? Does it, asshole? Remember who she is.

Booker downed his last drink and left his cash on the bar. The barmaid winked at him as he left. In his slightly buzzed state he realised he needed to get laid. Maybe that was it. He only managed to quickly jerk off a couple of times in the washroom since coming back and his last amorous endeavour was with a woman who turned out to be his daughter. That was bound to be messing with him. He needed to replace that memory with another. Is that something a good father does? Satiates his lust with unknown women to keep his mind from wandering somewhere dark with his daughter? He wasn't even sure how he would manage it. The thought of leaving Elizabeth home alone at night so he could chase down a quick lay made him feel like an asshole, but he sure couldn't bring anyone up to the apartment. He supposed it would be normal for him to find a more permanent female companion. Try to find a woman to have a normal relationship with, but he couldn't imagine how that would work. What damaged woman would consent to staying in a one room apartment with a twisted wreck of a man and his strange, adult daughter. No it wouldn't work...he had to focus on Elizabeth first. Throwing a third person into their already complicated family would only end in heartache.

He walked home slowly to wait for his buzz to leave and his anger to subside. Elizabeth could not know what went down today, so he had to be fairly sober when he got home. After all, Stokehouse did come through with some work eventually. He had that to tell her at least, even if he had to leave out a large chunk of his day. Yeah, just tell her about the job. Leave out the part with the mobsters and how they think she's some loose hussy you're foolin around with. Leave out the part where they threatened her. Leave out that they're watching us both.

He had put on his poker face by the time he reached his building. He had even tested it out on Bill Bob, giving him a friendly nod that was barely reciprocated. He had it set in stone right up until he got to his font door and opened it. His first realisation was that the place was clean, but it was quickly overshadowed by the fact that Elizabeth was standing there in that exact fucking dress that Bill Bob's daughter was wearing when she pushed him against a wall and stuck her hand down his pants. When the Roberts girl wore it, she filled it out with an ample bust and a curvy rear. Elizabeth wore it lazily hanging off her petite frame, looking like it would fall off of it's own accord.

He wanted to tear it off her.

"Elizabeth..." He growled, even though he didn't remember making the conscious decision to speak. "Take off that god damned dress."

"Booker...what?" He heard her ask. She had a small smile on her face, but he watched it fade right before his eyes.

"Look...you can't wear that, Elizabeth."

"What...why not?" She looked down at the offending garment in confusion. He couldn't imagine what was going through her head right now. It didn't matter if it hurt, she had to get out of that dress so he could stop remembering what it felt like seductively sliding up and down his body.

"You just can't."

"I don't understand..."

"Jesus, Elizabeth, please?"

Something in his voice must have reached her and told her to let it go. "Fine, I was about to wash up anyway..."

"Thank you...sorry...I uh...it's been a hell of a day..." He walked over to his desk and sat down, his back to Elizabeth as she stood over the basin. He heard the ruffle of clothing and the splashing of water and immediately blocked out the mental images it gave him.

"Did you find any work?" She asked.

"Yeah." He reached into the top drawer and found his cigarettes. "The job starts up tomorrow night."

"That's good news, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it is."

"Then what's wrong?"

Well, see, Daddy went back to see his mob friends who were not at all happy to see him and now he has to keep you confined to this one shitty room for a few weeks to avoid getting you sullied and murdered by a pack of fucking thugs. Also, I have to go out tomorrow night to work for these assholes and I have no idea what new type of sin I am going to have to commit to get me out of the trouble I'm in. Oh, and you're gonna love this part, I had to deny you're even my daughter which I know must be a sore spot for you. Sorry, baby.

"Oh, that courthouse can be a real bitch to get around in. I was in one line or another all day." It was only partially a lie.

"Oh...well, you got the work! That's great!"

"Yeah. It is."

The sun was setting behind him making the room grow dark, but he still saw Elizabeth out of the corner of his eye, reaching over the bed in a blur of smooth, fair skin to grab her nightgown. He felt like an asshole. Yelling at her to take that dress off. What the hell was he thinking? He had to explain it to her. But how? I nearly fucked a girl who wore that dress and I've been having some fairly confusing thoughts all day, so seeing you wear it really made the whole thing worse? Shit...It's been two days, Booker. Two fucking days and you've fucked it up already.

When she appeared in front of him, fully clothed in her long white nightgown he could only smile sheepishly at her. Please don't ask, Baby...

"This place looks great, Elizabeth." He said in lieu of a real apology. "You must have been at it all day."

"Thanks."

"I mean it. Thanks. It was a nice thing to come home to." And so were you. Forgive me?

"I'll get you some dinner." She smiled. Apology accepted.

Neither of them said a word about the incident until after they went to sleep. Only in the dead of night, when she crawled down onto the floor to join him, did it came up again.

"Booker?"

"Hmmm?"

"What was wrong with the dress?"

Answer her this time, asshole. She cleaned up two decades of filth from your apartment today while you were out risking her fucking life. At least tell her why you flew off the handle the second you walked in the door. She deserves to know the truth.

"Baby..." He started. "I can't see you like that..."

"See me like what?"

He sighed and pulled her closer to him. How do you explain this to her? Do you tell her about the Roberts girl? Leave that part out? Should you tell her about the interesting conversations you had today? The mobsters? She should know, it's her right to know if she's in danger. Jesus, just say something.

"Like a woman."

"But I am a woman, Booker. You can't make me hide it. That's not fair. I know you missed out on seeing me as a girl for a long time, but that doesn't mean you can try to force me to remain a child. Too much has happened."

"I know, I know...but I can't see you like that. Look, I'm sorry I went off like that. It wasn't right. I don't want you to stay a child, Elizabeth, but I...can't see you in a certain way. After what we've done..."

She rolled onto her back and looked over at him. God, the way she looked with the moonlight beaming down on her nearly broke him. Sometimes he still saw that naive girl fresh out of her cage, and sometimes he saw a woman who has suffered. A woman who has killed, but never truly loved. Right now he saw a woman who was so beautiful it hurt him to look. Even without her tears and her doors, she was still a goddess.

"But you already have seen me like that, haven't you?"

"Yeah...I guess I have...but I have to stop."

Can you, you old fool? Look at her. Can you ever stop seeing her as the woman who practically climbed you when you made her come? Can you really wipe that memory away? Do you really even want to? He had no choice. He had to.

"Do you know what I mean, Elizabeth?" he continued. "Do you understand?"

"I know that what we did was..inappropriate, considering who we are to each other. But Booker, you need to understand something."

"Elizabeth..."

"No. Listen. I don't have the luxury of experience to hide behind. Booker, you can sweep what we did under the rug with how many other indiscretions? For me...it was the first bit of human contact I can remember. How do you expect me to let go of that?"

"Elizabeth, you have to."

"That's not an option, Booker. And I don't think you should shut it away either."

"We have to try..." For us, Elizabeth. For our family.

"You said it yourself, Booker. We can't wash away what we have done."


	6. Chapter 6

First up, a big thank you to everyone who is following, giving me feedback and sending me messages. I have big plans for this story, and I hope you guys enjoy the ride (phrasing!). I'll talk about some of the comments I've gotten at the end of this chapter because I really do appreciate people who take the time to provide feedback and I want to respond to them, even if I am very late about it.

I especially want to thank those who have come for the smut, and are still following even though I have yet to deliver. I assure you it's coming (again, phrasing).

This chapter is mildly NSFW.

xxoo

* * *

><p>Every night, Booker asked if she would stay in the bed, and every night she said she would. But every night, weather it be a bad dream or a waking realisation, she was always compelled to join him on the floor. She had stopped talking about what happened on the airship, instead leaving him to think over it for a while. Elizabeth really could not let it go, and she didn't want him to let it go either. Then the memory would just be hers, and she had enough of memories that only belonged to her. Twenty years of isolation that only belonged to her, no one but a dead mechanical bird to share it with. Countless hours in the library all belonged to her. Endless meals at her tiny one woman dining table. Staring wide eyed at the ceiling all night. All memories she couldn't share.<p>

But the first lady? That was a memory she forged with him. Yes, it was wrong. A lot of things they had done were wrong. But like a lot of those memories she forged with Booker, this one was real and exciting. But he's your father, Elizabeth. How can you still love this memory knowing what you know?

I don't know. But I do.

In the morning, and sometimes in the evenings, when Booker left for work, Elizabeth would attempt to recreate those few blissful moments he gave her. She had begun masturbating back in the tower. Just small, unfulfilling orgasms to help her cure boredom or even to just sleep. She was no stranger to it, so when she was alone in the apartment her hands wandered over her body, mimicking what he did and trying her hardest to make herself feel the same way he did. Her fingers traced the outline of her sex just like his did, rubbing back and forth gently but firmly, dipping her finger into her wetness to spread over her swollen lips, just like he did. She liked what it did to her, far surpassing the detached feeling of excitement she would get back in her tower. But still, something was missing. She knew what was missing the second her father walked back in the door and every sense she had lit up like wildfire. Her heart would beat faster, her skin would flush and she would always remember the way he commanded her when he first walked back into the apartment after that first day away.

"Take off that god damned dress..."

Booker had no idea how close she was to just unhooking the sleeves and letting it fall from her body. A small, curious sense of propriety stopped her from undressing at his command. It was faint, but thankfully it was heard over the sound of blood coursing through her veins, and it won out against the madness she felt when he growled those words to her. She was surprised at how badly she wanted him to see her like that. Like a woman, as he put it.

Why, Elizabeth, why? Why did you want him to see you like that?

He was only her father for a few months before he sold her to pay off a debt, something she had still not thoroughly worked through. Was she trying to punish him by compounding his guilt with her sexuality, something she knew he felt uncomfortable with? Or was she desperate to not have him walk away from her again that she was willing to throw every part of herself at him? The more she thought about her odd feelings towards him, the more she realised how far back they went. From the moment he crashed through her roof and offered her that absurd greeting while dangling from the balcony she had felt...something. Something warm, but terrifying that she didn't seem to feel for anyone else she met outside of her tower. What is wrong with me? Am I in love with him? Am I in love with my father? Could I be? Should I be? Is this something normal girls have to deal with?

What little Elizabeth knew about romance came from books. She knew the theory, two people who loved each other and were intimate. She had none of the real world references, though. She had seen lovers embracing in the streets when she opened her tears to Paris, but they lacked any real context. Like how she knew the theory behind sex; this part goes into that part and eventually a child is made. But she didn't know about the rest. She didn't know the feeling and the emotion behind it. Is that what she was feeling for him? Or was she simply just aching to hang on to her family and this was her way of trying to keep him from leaving again?

The truth was, Elizabeth didn't know what a family felt like. She didn't know what the normal feeling she should have towards him was. She couldn't even bring herself to call him father to his face, even though she had referred to Comstock as such. She knew he was and she accepted it, but she couldn't open her mouth and validate him like that. Was it because she was mad at him or because she was in love with him?

Why can't it be both? Can't she be in love with him for being the man who rescued her and still mad at him for abandoning her in the first place? What did that mean for their future? What did he even want from her? What did she want?

Elizabeth only truly knew one thing; she wanted to get the hell out of this room. She wanted to go out and do something, anything. It had been over two weeks since their outing to the markets, and Booker hadn't let her go out once. She still regretted comparing him to Comstock, but the guilt she felt was dissipating the more she was cooped up in this tiny little office. She had made it look more like a home, of course. Mrs Robert gave her some fabric that she cleverly made into curtains to replace the rags Booker had lived with since he first started his lease. She had arranged the back corner into a little makeshift bathroom, complete with a modesty screen Booker trudged home with one afternoon. In the front corner where he kept his food, Elizabeth had perfected his makeshift kitchen. The bed was clean, with new sheets and pillows, even though no one really slept on it. Booker still insisted on taking the floor, even though he never really protested when she climbed down to sleep next to him. The place was looking like a real home. Even Mr Robert commented when he made one of his rare trips up the stairs. Elizabeth caught him eyeing Booker in a way she couldn't quite understand when they both thought she wasn't looking. Whatever it was, Booker responded in kind. She could read his face much better than Mr Robert, and the look on her father's face was unmistakably angry. After Elizabeth's revelation the other day, she had decided to put more effort into decoding what the Roberts truly thought about her father. They were usually nice enough to him, but every now and then Elizabeth would catch a look being passed between them that made her wonder.

Today Booker was out on his surveillance work he picked up from the courthouse. He told her he was bound to get a few weeks work out of it. Sometimes he went out at night to work, but when he returned from it he was different. He was quieter and far more irritable. She felt like she had to stay out of his way when he came back late, and last night she even pretended she was asleep while he trudged into the room. He didn't even turn any of the lights on, he just collapsed into his makeshift bed. Elizabeth thought she heard the rattle of a glass bottle and sure enough, when she climbed down onto the floor a few hours later, there was a half a bottle of whiskey lying in her spot. She placed it back on his desk and curled her back into him, latching onto his arm as she drifted off to sleep, doubting that surveillance work alone could possibly have this affect on him.

He left early in the morning to return to work. It was just before dawn when he silently got up, washed, got dressed and left again. Elizabeth was awake the whole time, but lay on the floor with her eyes closed. She missed the lazy kisses he would plant on the back of her head when he was half asleep. She missed his arm draped heavily around her waist. She missed the occasional hardness that pressed against her back sometimes when he slept. She wanted nothing more than to roll over and call him back to her. Don't go to work, Booker. Stay here with me. Stay here all day and let me work out these feelings. Let me work out what you are to me.

But when the door clicked close, Elizabeth knew she was alone again. She layed there, dozing for a while. Basking in the scent her father left behind on the blanket. There was little and less to do around the house. He had no books for her to read. Mr and Mrs Robert were downstairs, she could go and spend some time with them. She could try to decipher their feelings towards Booker, and discover why they had them.

Maybe she could go down there this afternoon. She slowly opened her eyes and rolled over to face the door. Booker's desk was in the way, and she noticed a stack of papers sprawled out on top. His notes from the surveillance job. Elizabeth would have guessed that Booker wasn't great with his paperwork. She climbed to her feet and stared down at the desk while she boiled the kettle. The days and the times were all out of order. He had no shorthand for anything. Who would recommend him for more work if this was what he showed to his employers?

She quickly dressed in one of her new dresses and sat down at his desk with her coffee. She found a notepad in the middle drawer and set about re writing Booker's notes in some kind of order. At the very least, Mr Stokehouse would be getting notes that didn't have cigarette burns in them and that had to count for something. Elizabeth couldn't stop noticing how Booker never took notes at night.

The notes took her a few hours. She took her time, sipping her coffee and crunching down on an apple as she carefully and studiously re wrote her father's work. When she was finished, she left the notepad on his desk, but bundled up his original notes to file in case he still needed them. She opened the bottom drawer and something instantly caught her eye.

At first it was the dress. The woman on the cover was depicted as wearing a blue satin dress. Why would Booker have this? Is this a fashion book? She flipped through a few pages. Is this an anatomy book? A female anatom-

Oh.

She remembered references to this type of thing in some of Comstock's sermons. Books filled with pictures of women for men to look at. She almost dropped the book as the realisation set in. Booker had this book to fuel his desire when he masturbated. They book illustrated women in various, lewd poses in different states of undress. Occasionally a man was hastily drawn in as a prop for the woman, but the focus and the detail was on her. For Elizabeth, the pictures of the women, while interesting, were overshadowed by the few that had men in it. She had never thought sex could be so...complicated. The different ways the couple held each other seemed both unnecessary and wildly compelling. Some of the acts were completely scandalous for her, and seemed to defeat the purpose of sexual coupling as a means to achieve pregnancy, but still her wicked sense of curiosity kept her looking. Elizabeth felt a few emotions wash over her. There was a small sense of giddiness that she had found something secret of her Father's. There was curiosity as she flipped through the pages along with a sense of titillation. There was also an unmistakable sense of jealousy that Booker had at one point fantasised about these women.

Instead of you? Would you prefer it if he looked at you when he did that?

Before she closed the book and stuffed it back where she found it, she was drawn to look at the first page. It was one of the few pages that had a man depicted on it. The woman in the image had her legs wrapped around the man, who was standing against a wall. Her arms were hooked around his neck and she was kissing him. Elizabeth smirked with a small sense of pride when she realised that that was exactly how she had embraced Booker back on the First Lady. Only instead of kissing him, Elizabeth had her face buried in Booker's neck. He had not kissed her at all. She replaced the book and put the notes in the top drawer instead. She got herself a glass of water and sat in silence for a while before she decided to wander downstairs to see if the Roberts were there.

Mr Robert was sitting exactly where she thought he would be. The gruff old man smiled sweetly to her when he saw her come down the stairs.

"Hey there sweetheart."

"Hello, Mr Robert." Elizabeth plopped down in one of the other lounges. "How are you today?"

"Call me Bill Bob. And, same as usual, I'm afraid. What about you, not going out today?"

"Nah, just thought I'd stay in."

"Sweetie, you have been in New York for, what, two weeks? And you ain't only left your dad's shitty little apartment but that one time. Go out for a bit. I'm sure Mrs Robert will be happy to show you around."

Elizabeth shook her head. She made a promise to her excessively over protective father. She would stay in for now. "I'll wait for Booker to have a day away from work. He can take me out again."

Bill Bob looked unmistakably sad at her comment. For all his bravado and his gruff exterior, the man had incredibly expressive eyes. Reading him was getting easier and easier.

"Didn't he have a day away recently?"

"Yeah. Thursday."

"Did he take you out then?"

"No..." Booker had insisted he wanted to spend the day with her in the apartment. They had stayed in and he had taught her to play cards and tried to show her how to cook. She had loved that day. It was raining outside, so it's not like they could have gone anywhere. But the more she thought about, the more she remembered other people still walking the streets below their window, thinking nothing of the rain under their umbrellas. Instead Elizabeth had spent the day inside learning to bluff at poker and burning the food Booker had tried to teach her to cook. Elizabeth had made Booker laugh when she destroyed their dinner with her inept cooking skills. She felt awful at first, never comfortable with failure. But Booker was laughing, actually laughing. She had heard grunts, scoffs and the occasional sarcastic chuckle, but this was a proper laugh. He was sitting on his desk, watching her fail at cooking and laughing so hard Elizabeth had no choice but to start laughing with him. But Bill was right...why didn't Booker take her out that day?

Bill Bob grunted and looked back into his newspaper. "You oughta go out there and experience it all while you can."

Elizabeth felt a surge of bravery along with a strong desire to protect her father. He wasn't a bad man, Mr Robert. He's just worried about me.

"What do you think of him, Mr Robert? About my father? You've known him for so long, and you remember me as a baby." Before he could answer, Elizabeth then found herself asking a question that she wasn't aware she wanted to know the answer to. "Did you know my mother?"

Bill Bob rested the paper on his knee and looked off into the distance.

"You're mother was a sweet girl. Didn't your father ever tell you about her?"

"No." Not once. Not ever. He barely mentioned her before he even knew I was his daughter. He hasn't said a word about her since.

"Not even your grandparents?"

What? Oh yeah. The "ranch".

"No...not really."

"Well, she was sweet, like you. A good girl who got herself caught up in something she wasn't prepared for."

"What wasn't she prepared for?"

"You father. She wasn't prepared for the man your father is."

"And what type of man is that, Mr Robert?" Her voice said it all. As she learnt to read people, she learnt to be read herself. Tell me the truth, Mr Robert. Tell me the worst thing you know about him. He surprised her by treating her like the adult that her Father seemed to want to deny that she was.

"Listen, I hate to badmouth a man in front of his own child, but I feel I gotta warn you the same way I shoulda warned her. I saw him after he dragged that poor girl back here one evening, and I told him not to do it. She's a good girl, she has a good family. She coulda had a good life, but she was too drunk to see past the dangerous fella that was promising to show her a whole new world that she aint ever experienced. I told him to clean her up and send her back to her folks, but the idiot didn't listen. Shit, I shoulda dragged her back myself, but it wasn't my place."

Elizabeth looked back towards the corridor and imagined her father, twenty years younger, dragging a drunk, giggling woman up the stairs. A nameless, faceless woman who died to bring her into this world. If Bill Bob had intervened, what would have happened? Would Booker and this woman had let their relationship mature before she was conceived? Would whatever medical matters that killed her mother been resolved? Would she have a family? Would she have even existed? Would she not have these confusing thoughts about her father?

Boy. You sure do miss your doors, don't you?

"He made a mistake. They both did." She offered.

"Yeah, that they did. She knew it straight away. The fool your father was moved her right in to his place as soon as he found she was carrying you."

"Sound's like the responsible thing to do."

"Yeah, I thought so too, at first. But he came back deeper and deeper into his cups as time went on. With less money and even less work. She stayed up in the place, just like you are, waiting for him to be responsible. She died waiting for that.

Listen, I aint one to give out advice girl, but I have to give you this. You're the only good thing that came out of that sorry situation. Go out. Have a life. Don't wait for your father to show you shit. Keep in touch with him, by all means. He's your daddy, and I know he loves you. But if you're thinking about piecing together some type of real family here, I gotta tell you girl and I hate to say it, but you ain't gonna get it outta him. I'm sorry."

"Maybe he's changed." She whispered. She could feel the emotion welling up in her throat.

"Don't waste your time, sweet girl. I've seen nothing to make me believe that. He ships you away after a few bad months and never tries to get you back? Never visits? He's in your life now, and that's your decision. But he's not a man you want to be trustin for stability. He's not a family man, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth had heard enough. Booker had told her that Bill Bob was the man to go for when you were in need of a reality check. He sure wasn't kidding. She was even a little angry at him, talking about her father in that way. Not that she doubted what he said, Booker's past was a web of terrible decisions and mistakes, but she felt like she was the only one who got to judge him like that. She was the only one who could say weather or not he was a real father. But right now, she could neither agree or disagree with Bill.

"Thank you, Mr Robert." She got up, offering him an accepting smile. She wanted his opinion, and she got it. She didn't have to like it, but she respected it. "I appreciate it."

"I'm sorry if I upset ya, sweet girl. And call me Bill Bob."

She smiled and headed back to the stairs. The same stairs her mother stumbled up after her father so many years ago. To the same apartment he kept her cooped up in.

"Anytime you need to talk, or get out of the apartment for a bit. We're here for you."

* * *

><p>Again, thank you guys for the comments. Having a little review pop up on my phone while I'm working or having a shitty day honestly lifts my spirits and makes me want to run home and keep a writin'.<p>

**Chefdonnie**- Thank you! Keeping the characters in character is something I really try hard to do, so I am really glad when people notice. I have deleted so much of this story already because I didn't think the characters were right. I admit I struggle with Elizabeth, because yeah. How do you relate to all that she's been through? It's insane.

**SilverThanatos**- Thank you so much :) I have read and enjoyed some fics where they're not related, but for me it adds that level of angst and tragedy that's pretty hard to resist writing about. I haven't really had a big thing for shipping related characters (with the excepting of a couple of Lannisters) but these two just stole my heart. Then they crushed it.

**anon** - Thanks! I hope you're still hanging around :)

**3501BlackDemon** - Much appreciated :) Writing dialogue is my favorite, especially internal dialogue. Booker has a really distinct way of talking, (although I guess it would be common for that time) that I try to keep sticking to. I also imagine his inner monologue would be constantly trying to punish him and that's just super fun to write.

**HeyiyaIf** - Thank you for the kind comments! Before Bioshock I would have been mortified with this pairing, but like you said, they don't really have that relationship. I think I have had Booker refer to himself as Elizabeth's father, but only in his head and really only in a mocking sort of way. I do cringe a little bit too when I write the words 'father' and 'daughter' in relation to them, but it feels like a necessary discomfort because this is not supposed to be an easy, 'lovey dovey' romance. It's strong, but it's kind of twisted. I had someone describe it like a broken bone that has healed wrong, and I have to agree with that. Also, yeah, 'dear Elizabeth' does not feel like Booker at all, that's for sure. Kinda sounds more like Booker was channeling Comstock =/

Also, thanks for sending me that video. I do love some PJ Harvey. I had Good Fortune stuck in my head for about 3 months back when it came out. Good times :)

**Cheese-kun** - Thank you and you're welcome! I'm sorry I got you addicted! The least I can do is see it through to the end now that I've started. If you think Booker is overwhelmed by his role now, just wait for a bit ;) I am trying to do their relationship justice and it makes me so freaking happy when people notice :)


	7. Chapter 7

In a way, the surveillance was killing him more than the night work. Booker had sat at the same bench for two hours, waiting for this guy to exit his house a block away and go do something, anything. Stokehouse had insisted on two equally important points. Keeping the man alive, and keeping him ignorant of his own surveillance. The man was set to testify against some folk that seemed innocent enough, but the case was loosely tied to something bigger, and the man's safety was feared for. Booker was also to document his every move, but with every second that passed Booker remembered why he gave up this sort of work for the more unsavoury employment available in New York.

Because you were young and stupid. Now you're old and stupid. Now pay attention.

Tracking this guy was tedious. He couldn't help but imagine that Elizabeth was with him. He could imagine her furiously writing down notes all day, eyes darting from the mark to her notepad. It was the only thought that made him smile all morning. Then, remembering that he had her cooped up in the apartment all day again, his smile faded bitterly. He had taken to waving to Peters every morning when he stepped out of his building and saw the motorcar parked across the street. Quincy had been interested in his day work all right, asking for his share and Booker happily undercut him. Low rate investigators don't earn the good money, after all. After that, Quincy didn't seem to care what he did as long as he did his job.  
>No, Booker knew that Peters was waiting for Elizabeth to show again. It was his job to keep Booker afraid and he knew he did a terrible job of convincing them that she meant nothing to him. The best he could do was try and make it look like she was no longer around. Yes, boys, the floozy broke my sad old heart. She saw the folly in sharing a bed with me and she got the hell out of here. It's just me, now.<p>

How long until that's true? One day you're gonna go home and she's gonna be gone. Walked right out of the door. He couldn't blame her at this point. He just hoped she walked out when Peters wasn't around to see her.

When the mark finally left his house, Booker followed. When he spent the morning at a cafe, reading a paper, Booker pretended to do the same. When he went to the store to buy tobacco, Booker stood across the road and idly inspected a news stand. When he walked to his office, Booker waited across the street and took note of how long he was in there. When he went back home again with moderately priced bottle of rum, Booker followed at a distance keeping an eye out. Watch him from his house, to around town, and back to his house. That's it. Daylight hours, the man rarely goes out at night, and the folks who might be after him prefer to keep their distance. He should be safe in his own house. For now.

Booker collected his notes as he walked from the man's house and further back into the city. Back to his home. Back to Elizabeth. Back to his daughter. Quincy didn't need him tonight, which was a relief considering how last night went. The old mobster enjoyed having the White Injun in his crew to scare the locals, but since Booker came back from Columbia he found he was losing the stomach for mindless violence. After having someone to protect, he found himself empathising with the victims. Last night a man begged and said he had a daughter at home that depended on him. Booker's heart went out to him, but he still did what he had to do to keep Quincy off his back.

I wouldn't hold it against you if you tortured me to keep her safe, he had thought. But it didn't make his job any easier.

It can't be much longer until he worked off his debt and he could become the man Elizabeth needed. Not much longer now. Then with the mob off their backs, she can go outside and meet some people her own age. She can have friends, maybe even go and study or get a job or something. Then she can meet a boy and leave her sick, sad father to rot in his office again. He ran a hand through his hair at the thought. The feeling of abandonment he got when he imagined her leaving was absurd. Of all the feelings he had started to reconnect with, this aching, vulnerable feeling was the worst. Is this how she felt when you handed her to Lutece? Did she know, even as an infant, that her father was giving her away?

He shook off that trail of thought and started taking another route home. He hadn't gone this way in a while, and he knew he should have come back here sooner, for a few reasons. He crossed the street and made his way down the alley, hearing that loud familiar voice yelling out the back of a large, open building. It got hotter the closer he got, and eventually the voice stopped yelling just before he got to the entrance. The humid, soggy smell got him right in the face like it always did and Ruth was standing exactly where he saw her last.

"Hello stranger." He growled, giving her a slight smirk when she turned to him.

"Well I'll be." She smiled. Ruth had gotten on in years, although she was barely older than him, but her smile still managed to suck in most men. She was tall, nearly as tall as him, with long dirty blonde hair that curled into a lazy braid. The crows feet around her eyes turned up when she smiled. The story of how he met Ruth, or rather how he befriended her was one of his many shames. He once knew her as the woman with the nice rack who washed his laundry. She would drink with him while she worked and he would cop a look as often as he could. But when the three perfect storms of alcoholism, loneliness and desperation collided as they so often did, Booker found himself at the local brothel. The madam set him up with one of their new girls, and when Booker went into the room he found Ruth, as nervous as he had ever seen a woman. Her nerves frayed even further when she recognised him, and Booker at first drunkenly attempted to pretend he didn't recognise her. The situation became so absurd they both ended up laughing. He stayed with her that night, drinking, talking. She talked about how she came to New York with a husband who beat her and how she had been trying to make it on her own since she left him. He told her about his crippling debt problem and the mobsters that had taken an interest in him. In his drunken haze, he found himself entertaining fantasies of maybe taking care of her. Making an honest woman out of this friend he had found. But that fantasy was short lived when she let him fuck her later in the evening. He had been with women who had lost interest, but this was something else. As cool as she was when they were talking, Ruth couldn't even pretend to not be disgusted with his touch. He didn't even get his pants off, instead making some excuse about being too drunk and going straight back for another drink anyway.

It was a few days later, when he saw her locked in a passionate embrace with another woman behind one of the bars in the area that he realised she was a lesbian. He found her later that night, all alone and nearly passed out drunk. In her drunken ramblings he managed to make out that she had been rejected by the other woman and it didn't sound like an easy let down. He helped her make it back to her house, held her hair back when she vomited and they had been friends ever since. Well, as close to friends as he would go. Mostly it was just Booker getting drunk with her when she washed his clothes, but occasionally they would get together for a drink. She was good enough company. Great for a laugh and she never pried into things she had no business knowing.

"Don't have your sack with you?" She joked, referring to the duffel bag he always brought his laundry down in. "You have got to be overdue by now."

"Yeah, just had to make sure you had your schedule cleared."

She threw down the paddle into the tub of water and approached Booker with a smile, wrapping her arms around him in a friendly hug. "Where you been? I was getting worried for you."

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"That good, huh? C'mon. I'll take a break." Ruth wiped her hands on her apron and led Booker further into the alley, pulling out a hip flask from under her skirts that Booker had counted on her having.

"Still having trouble with those mob boys?" She asked before taking a swig.

"Trouble...yeah, I guess you could say that."

"Well, you said it to me. It's just a job. Don't matter what you gotta do, just take you pay and go home."

"That's not it though, something else has happened."

"Watcha done, Booker?" She asked, offering him a drink.

"I...got a daughter." He admitted, taking swig from her flask.

Her head tilted from side to side, but the look on her face wasn't the least bit surprised. "Well congratulations. Who's the lucky woman who gets to call herself Mrs White Injun?"

"A woman who died near twenty years ago. My daughter is an grown woman. I...met her last week when I was...away for work."

"Well, that is something. Shit, you never told me you had a daughter?"

"Yeah it's not a story I like to tell. Her mother died giving birth to her...I was a shitty father. I gave her up when she was a baby. It's not something you ever want to discuss."

"Well shit, I guess I see why you never brought that up...was she happy to meet you or was she mad?"

"Both, I guess. It's been a rough couple of weeks. We're both still getting used to it."

"Shit. So you're keeping in touch?"

"Yeah. She's in my apartment. She's staying with me."

"She's staying with you? Your daughter? In that shitty little place?"

"Yeah. It wasn't planned. I didn't have time to go apartment huntin', I have to do what I can with what little I've got. It'll have to do for now."

"And how's that going for you?"

"It's been hard on her. She's new to the city and I can't let her out on her own, not without worrying about her. Shit, she can be standing right in front of me and I would still be worrying about her."

"Well, that's a good thing."

"How is that good?"

"It means you give a shit now."

They stopped halfway down the alley, at Ruth's usual break spot. Booker leaned back onto the wall and let the words sink in. He did give a shit now. He cared. There was something there now that tethered him to the rest of world, a world he was more than willing to give up on. That's why he had a hard time cutting that man up last night. It's why he hadn't looked into who was after his mark, so he couldn't be tempted to put a bullet into him himself if there was a standing reward. For so long he had no connection to the shared human experience that everyone else seemed to have. He had no connection to anyone and that mean he had no reason to justify or change his bad behaviour. But now he did. He gave a shit about what Elizabeth thought of him. He cared about what she was doing, how she was feeling. Even knowing that she was sitting alone, at their home, bored out of her powerful mind weighed on him.

"Actually, I need to ask you a favour."

"Yeah?"

"I want you to come and meet her."

"What? Why?"

"She's a bit...sheltered. She's smart, she's funny and she's the best girl you'll meet, but the folks who had her kept her isolated. She needs some friends."

"You want your old prostitute to befriend your daughter?"

"No, I want my old friend to spend some time with her. You'll love her, trust me. She's a fuckin gem, and I mean that. It's just that spending all her time around me ain't good for her. And if anything, you're my washerwoman."

"Well prostitute makes me sound fancier. Will I be much better, anyway?"

"I just need someone I trust to keep an eye on her, is all. Look, just come over for dinner maybe. A few drinks? I have the evening free, Whaddya say? You workin tonight?"

"Ok, DeWitt. Sure. I'll meet your daughter. You've gone and made me feel all special."

"Appreciated. Come by at around seven?"

"I'll be there. Make sure you clean that shit heap of an apartment."

When he arrived home, Elizabeth was in a strange mood. She sat on the bed, sewing. She looked up at him briefly and mentioned how she had redone his notes before lowering her head and going back to her work. She didn't ask how his day was. She didn't talk about what she had done around the house, she didn't start badgering him about when she could go out again. She was completely silent.

She's bored, asshole. She needs to get out of the house.

"So, we're having company for dinner."

"Yeah? Sounds good."

She didn't ask who was coming. She didn't ask what they were gonna eat. She didn't ask anything. She didn't even look up at him again.

"You ok?"

"Yeah."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"You wanna know who's coming over?"

"Sure."

"An old friend. I've known her for years. You'll like her."

"Sound's good."

He found his half empty bottle of whiskey from last night and poured himself a glass. He looked over to the little makeshift kitchen that Elizabeth had almost made into a genuine room all on it's own. There was enough there to make a solid dinner for three people, but they would have to buy some more food soon. His heart broke when he realised he couldn't take Elizabeth out shopping with him. Not while Peters watched them. Not when that squirrelly little fucker was just dying for another glimpse of her.

He sorted out some dinner while he waited for Ruth. Elizabeth's mood didn't improve, but he couldn't blame her. He could only hope that some more company would bring her back out of her shell. A female friend. A woman to relate to.

Booker heard Bill Bob yelling at 'that damned whore in his building again' signalling Ruth's arrival. When they were introduced, Booker saw that Elizabeth's spirits did lift a bit. Her eyes first regarded this new person as a threat though, he didn't miss that. A quick, silent glare as she worked out who this person was. But soon enough, she was all smiles. The sweet girl he had promised Ruth was here all right.

They ate dinner around his desk, with Booker sitting on the edge of the bed, offering his only two seats to the women. Ruth told Elizabeth about what there was to do around New York, and kept the dirty jokes to a minimum. Elizabeth talked about books, mostly. Booker realised that it was sadly the only subject Elizabeth could broach without leading to more questions neither of them could answer.

Elizabeth hardly spoke to him all night. She spoke politely when she did, and she hid any bad feelings she might have had towards him in front of company. He reminded himself that this was really the first time there was a third person to share her with. She had always been his alone. She's just being social. She's got a new person to talk to, that's why Ruth is here. Let her experience a new person. Let her forget you for a bit.

Ruth had put away a bottle of whiskey on her own before she got up to leave. She hugged Elizabeth farewell and promised she would come over in the morning to have breakfast with her and pick up their laundry. She gestured for Booker to follow her as she left, and he saw Elizabeth climb into bed as he shut the door behind him.

"Holy shit, Booker. Do you see that?" She lowered her voice to a drunken whisper as they descended the stairs.

"See what?"

"No no, I ain't sayin. Tell me you see it?"

"Yeah, she's mad at me. She's been in that place for a few weeks now, I know it ain't right..."

"No, well yeah, that ain't right, but there's something else. Tell me you see it, please."

"Shit, Ruth, see what."

She pushed open the door to the building and walked outside. Booker followed her into the chilly air. Ruth stood under the lamp post and lit a cigarette. Even as drunk as she was, Booker saw a sober fear in her eyes he had never seen before.

"Holy shit, I can't believe I'm gonna say this..."

"Spit it out, woman..."

"You don't work in a brothel for this long without learning a few things, Booker...that girl...shit, I think she wants to fuck you. Shit...are you pissed at me?"

Booker didn't say anything. The look on Ruth's face was deadly serious. Her eyes alone had a depth of fear in them that he hadn't even seen when he first saw her working in the brothel.

"Fuck...I'm an asshole. I'm wrong. I'm drunk. I'm sorry. Feel free to shove this up my ass later. That was a fuckin stupid thing to say. Shit..."

"You gonna be ok getting home?" He asked. Let it go. She didn't see anything between you and Elizabeth. There's nothing there but the sad remnants of a big mistake made in another world.

"Yeah, sure. You still ok with me seeing her tomorrow?" She asked sheepishly.

"Sure. Look...don't take her out. Alright?"

"Do I want to know?"

"No. You don't."

"Ok...you pissed at me?"

"If I got pissed at you every time you ran your damn mouth like an idiot, we'd never even be friends."

"Yeah, sure." She smiled, making her way down the street. "I'm gonna regret sayin that shit, Booker. Think of how bad I'm gonna feel tomorrow when you get up to go to work."

Booker watched her walk down the street for a bit before heading back up to his apartment. He quietly opened the door and went about turning off the lights as Elizabeth slept. He drank the rest of his whiskey straight from the bottle, staring at Elizabeth's sleeping form in the darkness. It bothered him that she had not said a dozen words to him all night. And Ruth still saw what she saw? She thought she saw a girl who wanted to fuck him? How could she even see that?

But doesn't that make you happy? She wants to fuck you. She doesn't want to let go of when you touched her on the First Lady. Now she wants more. She's a woman, all right. People always talked about how women were not sexual beings. They just endured the act for the sake of their men. Booker knew it was bullshit. There was a filthy, moaning animal sleeping inside even the shyest woman, he had awakened a few himself. He had accidentally stirred the beast sleeping inside Elizabeth, and now it was waking up.

The only thing is, Booker, are you gonna let another man take it, or are you gonna do it yourself?

The thought of another man touching her almost made him shake with anger. But he was her father. That was normal, wasn't it? He wants only the best for her. He has to chase off all the men that aren't good enough for her. That's all.

He collapsed onto the floor and into his makeshift bed. His argument was as weak as it could have been. He didn't want any man to touch her. Any man at all. He climbed the damn tower in Monument Island to get to her. He rode the skylines to take her to safety. He took how many bullets to get her out of there. He made her. He worked for her. He fought for her. He deserved her. He knew there wasn't another person alive who would fight for her the way he did.

No. You can't have her. Not like that. Ignore it. Ignore it all. Ignore how your heart stopped when Ruth said Elizabeth wanted to fuck you. Ignore how you think of her first thing in the morning and last thing at night. You can't have her.

Booker eventually drifted off still fully clothed, cradling a bottle of whiskey. He awoke a few hours later and of course Elizabeth had joined him on the floor. Even with her mad at him, feeling his body pressed against hers felt too right to ignore. He knew the dirty truth, he had known it all along. Of course he wanted her. From the second he started seeing her as a woman back on the first lady, he had no way of stopping. That door was open now and there was no closing it. What do you do now, huh? How do you handle this mess? All Booker could do was let his head heavily hit the floor with a thud and drift back to sleep.

"Fuck."


	8. Chapter 8

Heeeeeere's Chapter 08! I should be getting back to updating weekly, instead of fortnightly because I have more important things I should be doing and that pretty much guarantees that I will probably focus on this instead.

I also wrote the first physical scene between these crazy kids today. It has happened.

* * *

><p>True to her word, Ruth dropped back the next day. She had a morning coffee with Elizabeth while telling her some of the more family friendly stories that she knew of New York. Over the weeks, the woman made a habit of returning and Elizabeth came to enjoy the funny, downtrodden woman. But as much as she enjoyed Ruth's company, Elizabeth still found herself staring hopefully out of the window. Booker had not relented his rule, and she had completely run out of guilt for comparing him to Comstock. At this point, she felt it was a just accusation. It had been over a month now since they had gone out. A month since their first day together, and Booker seemed uninterested in ever doing it again. He had another day away from work last week, but instead he spent the day drinking and going over his notes. She had given up feeling like she was being unreasonable, and started considering just walking out on her own. So she would break a promise, but he had promised her she would be free. Perhaps dishonesty ran in the family.<p>

No, Elizabeth. You saw something behind that door. You saw it and it made you stay with him, remember? Let him adjust. Just...give him time?

But he was making it hard for her. He didn't want to leave the apartment with her. He snapped at her in the evening when she tried to talk to him. There was something about his work that bothered him. Judging from the notes that she still continued to rewrite for him, it might have been the boredom. It must have been worse at night...no matter how idle his mark was during the day, Booker always took notes. On the hour, every hour, even if the man was just sitting in his home. Elizabeth never found any notes for his night time surveillance. This little detail swam around in her mind as she listened to him trudge into their tiny apartment early in the morning. He went straight for the whiskey, a bit of food, then his camp on the floor. He hardly even spoke to her any more. The only conversation she got out of him and the only intimacy he would allow came when she crawled down onto the floor a few hours after he went to sleep. He would talk to her then, however briefly, before he fell back to sleep stroking her hair. He was always up before her in the morning, sometimes he even left before she was awake. All she was left with was his scent on the blanket and the memory in her head that she still used when she quietly whimpered his name. As angry as she got at him, it was nothing compared to her desire.

While he was gone, Elizabeth appreciated the company Ruth provided. She stopped by a few times a week to pick up and drop off their laundry. Ruth had offered to pick it up because Booker was working so much nowadays, but Elizabeth wasn't fooled. Booker was getting the woman to keep an eye on her. Instead of doing what he was supposed to do, he passed his responsibilities off onto another person. And Elizabeth was so desperate for company that she almost didn't mind. There was something about the woman that reminded her of Booker, and it went further beyond a shared love of whiskey. Elizabeth was appalled by her initial reaction to Ruth. When she first walked in the door, Elizabeth had wanted her to leave. There was something about seeing him close to a woman of his own age that made her feel...threatened. She had shaken off the feeling and remembered her manners, and as the night progressed she warmed to her. Elizabeth had little she could talk about, but Ruth was more than willing to fill and silence.

"Did you have a boyfriend back west?" Ruth offhandedly asked her one day.

So Booker had told Ruth the same bullshit lie about the ranch then. A normal girl would have had a male admirer at some point, wouldn't she?

"Yeah...for a while. He was sweet at first. He used to bring me presents a lot. Then he got controlling. He wouldn't let me do what I wanted to do. So I had to leave."

"Yeah...that's a trap a lot of women fall for. You don't have to worry about that any more. Any man wants to treat you bad, your Father's gonna sort them out."

Oh, my beloved father...

My father has mistreated me in more ways than I can describe. He abandoned me. He locked me in a tower. He put his hands up my skirt when he was masquerading as my saviour and made me feel things he then demanded that I deny. He then imprisoned me for a second time and refuses to tell me why. He has kept me in this horrible cycle of abandonment and confinement. Because of my father I have lived a life I cannot share with anyone but him, and now he pulls away from me again. No one else can know about who I really am. For everyone else there will only be lies.

Elizabeth witnessed Booker arguing with Ruth outside a few days earlier. She had gone downstairs to use the washroom and heard them out on the street. The woman was just as mad about Elizabeth's situation as she was. She yelled at the girl's father for longer than Elizabeth would have thought Booker would stand for. She heard her telling him that it wasn't fair and she needed to get out of the apartment. Ruth offered to take her out herself, just down to the markets. She heard her father's voice, but she couldn't make out what he was saying. Whatever he said, Ruth had relented. Elizabeth saw her storming down the street away from their apartment. Elizabeth never mentioned that she heard the argument, and neither Booker nor Ruth brought it up. He had said something to Ruth to justify her confinement, and Elizabeth could not imagine what it might be. Neither of them seemed to feel obliged to tell her the reason.

Ruth left after her coffee, giving the girl a long hug before she left. Elizabeth cleaned up their dishes and went back to her book, but she couldn't concentrate. Her eyes were being drawn to the door on the other side of the room. Booker always walked right past that door like it wasn't even there. He locked it, boarded it up and rejected what was inside. Just like he did with what they did on the First Lady. Just like he was now doing with her. He boarded up her childhood, boarded up her sexuality and now he wanted to board up the rest of her. Why? What was it about her that made him do this?

And why did she have to put up with it? You can fight back, Elizabeth. You can still open some doors, can't you?

She sprang to her feet, full of righteous determination and rushed downstairs. Bill Bob wasn't there for a change, but she rushed past the administration desk and into the closet next to the washroom. She saw it last time she was in here, and sure enough it was still there. She picked up the crowbar and dragged it back up to their apartment. The wood almost splintered apart while she wrestled with it. She cursed and grunted while the apartment was filled with the sounds of cracking wood. With a final snap the top board come off, clattering to the floor. She worked the second one for a bit longer, but eventually it cracked from the door frame and joined the other on the floor.

The lock was the easy part. Her hairpin poked and prodded in the old lock until it snapped open. She remembered the room from her dream. She remembered what was in there and what it meant, but she was wholly unprepared for what it would feel like to look at the scene of her father's biggest crime with her normal girl eyes.

The window was still open. He hadn't even bothered to shut it when he closed off this memory. The breeze from outside made the ragged curtains dance and the floor was stained with two decades of rain and dust. There was a shelf to her left, hastily bolted onto the wall, but it had nothing on it. There was a basket of dirty clothes in the corner, looking like they were ignored long before he had actually abandoned her. She didn't miss a couple of empty liquor bottles stashed away behind it.

And there it was. Sitting in the corner. Still after all these years she thought she could see signs of her presence. She could almost see the dent in the tiny mattress that her little form created. She could almost smell her own infant scent. She could almost see the blanket moving as her tiny legs kicked around. She could see the mobile suspended over her crib spinning around. The same mobile was still now, with no infant below it to watch it twirl. There were no toys in this place. There were no pictures for her to look at. No books that he should have read to her. All that there was in this room was despair, and it had already been here for a while before Booker closed the door for the last time.

It was at that moment that Elizabeth could not imagine seeing anything in her father's future that would be worth forgiving for this. Just like back in Columbia when he revealed himself to be the lying snake that he was, pretending he was going to take her to Paris, she hated herself for trusting him. She knew what he did, but she thought she was dealing with it. She thought they were going to fix their wounds one at a time so they could be together as a family. She was a fool, just like her father. There was no fixing this. Not now that she was standing right in front of it.

Elizabeth dropped to the floor. She just sat for a while, looking up at her old crib. She tried to imagine what it was like to be a child in this room. If she tried really hard, would the memories still be there? Would she look up from her crib and see her father's face? How would he look? Would he see a beloved daughter or a burden? Would he even come into the room if she cried? Did he regret that drunken night with her mother every time she had cried for his attention?

She stayed on the floor with her thoughts until she heard the rustle of keys in the front door. The door softly clicked closed and she heard his footsteps behind her. She didn't have to turn around to see him to guess his reaction. The tentative sound of his footsteps as he walked back into this room was enough.

"Elizabeth?" He asked softly, his voice already filling with emotion. "What are you doing?"

"Did you hate me the whole time?" She asked, ignoring his question.

"It's not like that..." He protested. "I didn't hate you..."

"What was it then?" She snapped, still not turning to face him. "What was it? Huh?"

"I was young...younger than you are now. I had no idea what I was doing."

"Yeah. You still don't, do you?"

"No. Not really."

She sat there quietly, staring at her crib. She heard Booker take a few more steps into the room behind her. The anger that had been growing under the surface since they returned from Columbia boiled at the sound of his footsteps. She stayed silent for a while, not sure of what she could even say. Not entirely sure of what she wanted to say. Here it is, Booker. A room full of your failures. Your crimes. Deal with it. I would help you, but I seem to have developed a few of my own.

"Why did you do it?" She asked. She could feel the tears in her eyes, but she needed to know. "Was it just the debt? Or did you want to get rid of me?"

"It was the debt, Elizabeth. That's it. I was not taking care of you very well, but I never wanted to be rid of you."

"What about now?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you want me gone now? Am I still too much to deal with?"

He didn't answer and it broke her heart. The heavy silence she felt from behind her compelled her to turn around. The pain was written all over his face and the guilt broke through her anger. Of course he would want to get rid of you when you did things like this, Elizabeth. He was just a lonely drunk before you came back into his life. Now he's a lonely drunk who has his painful memories dredged up and scrutinised.

"Elizabeth..."

She started to shake her head as she turned back to the crib. No, no, no he wasn't going to say this...

"Jesus, I dunno...maybe if I talk to a few people...I might be able to find somewhere for you..."

She felt the tears fall onto her cheeks and run hot down to her jaw.

"I can send you money, and I would come and see you...you'll have a place on your own..."

She felt herself standing on her shaking legs. No no no. He wasn't going to do this again. He wasn't going to reject her again. It was too much. She couldn't handle it. Not even the promise of true freedom was enough to make up for the fact that he was about to send her away again.

"It might be for the best, Elizabeth...I can't-"

Once on her feet she moved to him. He took a few steps back, but found the wall before instead of escape. She had barely registered what she was doing before she had her mouth on his. She just wanted to stop him from saying these hurtful things about sending her away. She wanted to be close to him. She wanted to punish him. She wanted to love him. She wanted to hurt him. She did all of those things as she hooked her arms behind his neck and lifted herself until her legs wrapped around his waist. Just shut up, Booker. Feel me. Remember who I am. Remember what we did. You were my saviour back then, when did it change? Why did it have to change?

He caught her out of instinct, but she felt his body tense up against hers. He held her awkwardly for a few seconds, his hands trying not to caress her thighs while she planted quick, desperate kisses onto his unresponsive lips. But he didn't push her off. He didn't set her down on the floor right away. After a few awkward moments of ineffectively pressing her mouth to his, she felt his lips stir. She felt them open, and she opened hers in response. There was one fleeting moment where she was sure she felt his tongue brush against her lips and his hands gently rubbing her legs before he roughly set her back on the ground, covering his mouth and turning into the corner of the room.

Elizabeth turned back to her old crib, her head swimming with too many conflicting thoughts and her stomach churning with guilt and uncertainty. She wanted her freedom, but she wanted him. She wanted her father, but she wanted a lover as well. She wanted her childhood back, but she wanted to be exactly how it was now. She wanted to love him, but she wanted him to know how much she hated him. She wanted him to leave, but she wanted him to grab her and kiss her.

"Liz'beth..." She heard the emotion boiling to the surface when he spoke. "What you just did then...it's not a joke, ok? It's not a fuckin' game."

"I know..."

"You can't just kiss me like that..."

"I know!" Her fingers hooked around the railing to her crib. She heard him pacing behind her and the realisation crystallised. What happened back in columbia, happened without knowing. Booker's words came back to her, and she finally realised their significance. It wasn't right then, it sure as hell ain't right now. What had she done? How bad was it, really? Was he definitely going to send her away again?

"Look..." He started. "I'm gonna go for a bit, ok?"

She turned to look at him, knowing the fear was written all over her face. Even as hurt as she was, she hated the thought of being alone again. The look on his face was worse. She almost wished she had never learnt to read him. His handsome face looked old and haggard. He always had those lines on his forehead, why did they look so prominent now? He had a few streaks of grey in his hair when they met, but now she felt responsible for each and every one. What was she doing to him?

"I'm gonna come back. But just for a few hours...I promise. I just gotta clear my head."

All she could do was nod at him, not trusting her voice. He quickly embraced her before he left, moving his mouth to the top of her head, but stopping short of planting a kiss there.

"Just wait for me, baby...please?"

"I've waited enough..."

"I know, I know...I'm sorry."

With his apology lingering in the air, she let him leave. She waited in her old room until the front door clicked closed and she heard his heavy footsteps descending the stairs. She collected herself and decided she had had enough of this room for today. She moved the loose bits of wood into the corner of the room, shut the window against the onslaught of rain that had been brewing all day and carefully closed the door.


	9. Chapter 9

Got a lot more followers now, thanks guys :)

This chapter actually contains one of the first scenarios (the first part of this chapter, but more specifically Booker's first line) I thought of when I tried to imagine how their relationship would actually work out, so it almost feels like a bit of a milestone for me. Sort of.

I'm gonna reply to some comments down at the end of the chapter, too.

I would also like to apologise for my woefully inconsistent updating schedule; I read every chapter before I upload it, which leads to more writing, which leads to working on more chapters, which leads me back to earlier chapters that I haven't uploaded yet to retconn some stuff, which leads me back to the internet for some inspiration, which inevitably leads to me watching cats on youtube which all ends in me completely forgetting to upload the chapter anyway.

xxoo

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><p>Booker stumbled into the building, acutely aware of how drunk he was. He had not been this intoxicated in so long. What bar did he start at? What was the last one he got kicked out of? He had a fairly dependable memory of the first bar he went to, and the curious look the barmaid gave him as he ordered several drinks in quick succession. He remembered her saying something angry to him as a large man grabbed him by the collar and threw him out on the street. He vaguely remembered a second bar, several more drinks and the pavement coming up to meet him again. He remembered a drunken, one sided conversation with a very uncomfortable looking man at a diner. He wasn't sure where he got this last bottle of whiskey, but he thought he had been nursing it for a while, slowly sobering up as he walked around in the rain. He needed somewhere to dry off, in both senses of the phrase, but that's not all that brought him here.<p>

As he stumbled into the dimly lit building, it occurred to him that he hadn't done this in a very, very long time. The last time felt forced and shameful. He might have even been this drunk, if he remembered correctly. It was the type of thing he wouldn't think about while sober. The type of thing he would scoff at.

Being so late, the building was empty. Was he an intruder now? Did they have closing hours? Shit. He needed to sit down. He was drunk, confused, soaking wet and so very tired. Clutching his bottle of whiskey, he found the right room and sat down heavily on the seat that was provided. He couldn't hear another soul, and it was pointless without another person. He took a deep swig of his drink and figured that at the very least, he had a dry place to drink and pass out. He rested his head against the hard, wooden wall and sat in silence. Waiting for either sleep or company.

Sure enough, just before sleep took him, he heard the rustle of another human being behind the partition. Eventually he heard a voice.

"Are you troubled, my son?"

Booker couldn't help but chuckle darkly.

"Do you wish to confess?" The voice asked again.

"Well, father, I hope you have some backup in there," Booker began. "Because you're about to hear some shit."

"I'm all ears, my son." The priest sounded kind. A nice man. Too nice to hear what Booker had to say. Too nice to hear the crude and sinful thoughts Booker planned to unleash.

"There's a woman, and I can't get her off my mind."

He heard the priest chuckle. "The fairer sex often plague our though-"

"She's got these eyes," Booker interrupted. He came here for a reason, and it wasn't to listen. "Big, blue eyes. I can almost see my reflection in them, sometimes. Her whole face is like a fuckin angel got lost down here. I tell you, father, those statues and pictures and shit ain't got nothin on the real thing. She's not just a looker, though. She's smart. She's funny, but funny in a way she doesn't know about. She's kind. She's sweet. She's...fuckin perfect, Father."

He stopped and took another swig of his whiskey. The priest continued to listen in silence, letting the crazy drunk man talk his problems though.

"I've done a lot of things to this woman. Terrible things. Some she knows about and some she doesn't. She's forgiven some...trying to forgive the rest. But I keep fuckin it up. I think I'm gonna keep doin it too...I look at this girl and I feel things. Things I haven't felt in years. Things I had almost forgotten about. I was a dead man and she brought me back to life, and all I can do in return is ruin hers."

"It seems you are smitten by this woma-"

"Smitten? Is that the word we're gonna use? I'm her fuckin slave, father. I haven't been in a damn church, well, a real one like this in years...I mean, I spent some time in a floating city that was full of fuckin churches, but that's...a whole other story. I haven't been a godly man, in...well, ever, I guess. I know I'm going to hell, father. I came to terms with that a long time ago. But I look at her sometimes and I think...maybe that's where heaven is for me. Is some sick god teasing me like this? What would you do to get into heaven, Father? What if god made you commit a sin to get into heaven?"

"Son, a woman's body is-"

"Yeah, I ain't done yet. This angel, father," Booker took a drink. A big one. He was gonna say it out loud, and he wasn't sure what it was going to sound like. "She's my daughter."

Booker heard the priest sigh, but he was too drunk to care what it meant. Too drunk and too tired.

"I want to fuck my own daughter. My own god damned daughter. That's the type of man I am. Now, I want to get a few things clear, she ain't no child. It's not like that. She's a woman and I had no real hand in raising her. When I met her she was a grown woman. We met and I didn't keep my hands off her-"

Booker closed his eyes as hard as he could and hit his head on the wall behind him when he felt the onslaught of guilt induced tears stinging the back of his eyes. The unacceptable memory had a way of making itself seem so innocuous in his head. But when he said it out loud, it gave a certain life to the act that he had been desperately trying to stifle.

"I didn't know she was my daughter. I didn't know. She didn't know. I've been trying. I want to be a father. But I can't stop...thinking of her as a lover. And the worst part? The fucking worst part of this god damned mess? I think she wants it too, father. I think she wants this too."

"What makes you think this?"

"Well, she tried mounting me today, a few feet away from her old crib, no less. She kissed me. I kissed her back. I pushed her off and ran straight for the nearest bar. Now I'm here."

"Perhaps the girl is simply confused? If you met her recently, then she must want to form a bond with you. She could be confusing her desire for a fatherly relationship with you for this...unnatural attraction?"

"Shit, you're probably right." He continued to down his drink as he confessed. "But she's stubborn like me. If she makes another move on me...I ain't that strong. I won't be able to stop myself."

"You mustn't think like that. You can be strong for her. Where is the girl's mother?"

"Dead."

"Can you dishonour her memory like this?"

"I think I did that when I gave the child to a stranger in the first place. The woman died hating me. There's nothing I can do to ruin her memory any more, even if I fuck our daughter."

"Son, you must stop sayin-"

"That I want to fuck her? I do, father, I do. The dirty truth is, I want to keep her all to myself. I want to be everything she needs. I want to keep her locked away from the rest of the world because the rest of the world isn't good enough for her. No man is good enough for her, not even me. But I can take care of her. I can. Sometimes I wonder...would it really be so wrong? If I have already bought my ticket to hell...what reason is there to stop now?"

The priest remained silent. Whether or not he was giving Booker more time to vent or simply in stunned silence, Booker had no idea and he didn't care.

"A man once told me that with me, it always ends in blood. I can't stop myself, Father. I never could."

He went to take another large swig, but only half a mouthful was left. He swore in frustration and tossed the bottle in the corner of the booth.

"That's my cue to leave, Father. Pray for me, will ya?"

Booker barely heard the man as he stumbled out into the empty church.

"I will, my son."

Booker briefly saw the clock as he staggered back into his building, soaking the floor as he went, but he forgot what the time was as soon as he looked away. It was too late for him to have to worry about specifics. Even Bill Bob snoozed in his chair. You're getting old, Bill. Ten years ago you woulda caught me in a state like this.

He made his way upstairs and saw that the lights were still on in the room. He tentatively opened the door, but stumbled when it had opened too far and he lost his balance. Sure enough, Elizabeth was still up. Sitting on the bed, reading a book. The loveliest sight he could imagine. She closed the book and shifted until she was awkwardly perched on her knees.

"Booker...I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done any of that...I don't know what I was thinking...Please. I just...please don't send me away again."

Booker closed and latched the door, he put his hand up to gesture her to stop speaking.

"It's ok, baby. You're not goin anywhere. I didn't mean it."

"I was so angry at you for making me stay up here..."

"I know, I know...we can talk about it..." He half stumbled over to the bed, collapsing down onto it and barely missing Elizabeth in the process. She moved over to him and rested his tired, rain soaked head on her warm lap, running her fingers in his hair. He turned so he could look up at her. It was like looking up at her on the beach in battleship bay, a whole other lifetime ago. "Baby, you haven't done a damn thing wrong. Not ever, ok?"

She smiled down at him.

"You're fuckin perfect." He finished.

"Then why are you doing this to me?" She whispered, her eyes growing large and wet. He felt her fingers slide up against his own and he stroked her newly formed pinky. "You're pulling away from me and it hurts, Booker."

"Because..." He slurred. "You can't know how...imperfect...this life I've given you is."

"Booker, that doesn't make any sense..."

"I've fucked it all up again, Elizabeth. I really have."

"No you haven't..."

"I have. You don't even know it, but I have."

Just tell her, you old fool. She needs to know. She can handle it. Admit it. She has a right to know what she's gotten herself into. With a surge of drunken bravery or idiocy, he finally told her the truth.

"Liz'beth...you can't leave the apartment because there are men watching the house."

"What...what men?" She asked, her grip on his hand tightening. "Are they...from Columbia?"

"No...not like that." He wasn't prepared for how scared she was when she mentioned Columbia. It's in a whole other reality and she was still so frightened. "These are different men. They're gonna stop, eventually. They're from before I went to Columbia. I've been working for them at night."

"What type of work, Booker?"

"The bad kind, Elizabeth. The real bad kind. This man...pays me to get information out of people. I'm working off a debt...it's almost over. I'll be square with them and then I can leave."

"Why are they watching the house?"

"They're watching me. But they want to know about anyone close to me. I can't let them know about you, so I kept you up here...They don't know who you are they just think you're some girl...but I couldn't let them see you."

"Booker...why didn't you tell me?" She asked and he was taken aback by her concern. Where was the anger? She was still warmly stroking his fingers with her own. I fucked it all up again, Elizabeth...why aren't you mad?

"I'd let you down again...I guess I just couldn't admit that. Not after...everything..."

"Booker, you could have told me..." She smiled down at him. Was he going mad? He thought he heard her chuckle when she spoke. "You don't have to keep things like this from me, you silly old man."

And just like that, a dramatic weight had been lifted off his shoulders. She knew about Quincy, the mobsters and the lies and yet she didn't hate him for it. But then again, people had been watching her her whole life. The guilt hit him a bit harder when he recalled the two way mirrors that surrounded her home, and her reaction to finding them. The mobsters were kind enough to leave her be in her own home. They didn't set up filming equipment or peep through the windows. To a woman who had been watched and studied all her life, that must be almost a courtesy.

She helped him shrug out of his soaking jacket while he kicked off his shoes. He told her again how the men won't be there for long, then he promised they can go out together again. She can go out with Ruth, too. She can even go out on her own. He would help her get a job or enrol her in some school. He would take her to the library and to the museums and art galleries and all of those places he didn't see the point in, but he wanted to go with her.  
>His shirt was soaked underneath his jacket, and he pulled it off, throwing it into the corner of the room with the rest of the laundry. He hesitated briefly when he unbuckled his trousers, what little remaining sense of propriety telling him that it might not be right. But she helped him out of them before going across the room to fetch a towel. Elizabeth sat back on the bed and he rested his head on her lap while she dried his hair. The feel of her fingers gently massaging his scalp was so blissful he wanted to drift off to sleep, but he forced himself to stay awake. He didn't want to let go of this moment. A great deal of weight had been lifted from him, and he comfortably basked in the affection he had been denying himself. He wasn't familiar with the feeling of unburdening himself of his troubles. He usually kept hold of them and drowned them in liquor. But he told Elizabeth of his sins, and she had taken them away for him. We can do this together, don't hide from me. I'm your partner. She was humming to herself as she gently dried off his hair. What a strange girl...she seemed to revel in his entropy. Whenever she learnt a new sin he had committed, she got stronger. She comforted him, said the right thing. Her first instinct was always to tell him he was still a good man. She took his weight from him and let him breathe.<p>

Can she handle more? Can you lift some more weight off your shoulders? Can she handle the rest of your bullshit tonight?

"Elizabeth..." He started, his voice dropping to a slurred whisper. He met her eyes, drunkenly gazing up at her face.

"Hmmm?"

"I didn't hate it either...back on the First Lady. I think about it...a lot." The small, seemingly innocent phrase was loaded with so much meaning for them both. There it is, Elizabeth. I have these sick thoughts. It's no big deal for us, is it?

"Me too." She had stopped massaging his head and was running the fingers on her left hand through his hair.

"It ain't right..." He protested weakly, but he felt his fingers intertwining with hers.

"I know..." She agreed as his hand came to rest on her knee. He couldn't stop himself from gently caressing her thigh. A small signal that things were about to change – had already changed - and there was nothing either of them could do about it. Her fingers came to a halt in his hair as his hand gripped her thigh. Yes, feel me when I do this. You know why I am doing this, don't you? Can you feel it? Are you ok with this?

Her hand slid down to caress his face, sliding over the rough beard. She leant down and planted a kiss on his lips. He couldn't help but shudder. It wasn't lustful but it wasn't chaste, either. Something between kissing a lover hello and kissing a father goodbye. It was the opposite of the desperate, fearful kiss she had tried to give him only a few hours ago . Whatever it was, he felt the tension sink from his body, only to be replaced by a deep feeling of fear. Fear of what they were going to be to each other and the fear of all the ways he could ruin it for them. When she pulled back and he saw her sweet face again, and she was still smiling.

"It's ok, Booker...we can get through this." She promised. All he could do was smile back up at her. The range of conflicting emotions must have been heavily present on his face...there was no way he could hide them all. Not right now, and certainly not from her. "We should go to sleep...you'll feel better tomorrow."

"Yeah," He agreed, failing at an attempt to sit up.

"Stay here..." She said, helping him manoeuvre around the bed until his head rested on the pillow. Elizabeth reached up and turned the light off, but climbed down from the bed and headed for her trunk. She fished out a nightgown and started undressing at the foot of the bed. Booker didn't even try to hide that he was watching her. He watched her gracefully step out of her dress. She wasn't wearing much underneath, just a slip and panties and he watched as she stripped out of them too. He had briefly glanced at her body before, back in Columbia, and he thought she had something wonderful going on under those clothes. However, what he imagined back then was nothing compared to what he saw right now in the faint light of the city outside. It was enough to make him dizzy. He shamelessly watched his naked daughter smooth out her nightgown and throw it over her head. He watched as her tiny, pointed breasts were covered by the thin white fabric. He watched it flow down her hips, covering her perfect curves. She smiled a knowing smile to him. I know you saw. I wanted you to see. He smiled back. I did.

Elizabeth crawled in the bed and laid down facing him. Her hand found his and she pulled it over to her, intertwining their fingers. He pulled her closer to him and she rested her head on his shoulder and nuzzled into his chest. He let his hands wander in ways that he had to avoid every time she had joined him on the floor. He stopped short of feeling her up like he was getting ready to fuck her. He knew that wasn't going to happen tonight. They weren't quite there yet. But his hands rubbed her naked arms and once or twice he brought his lips down to touch her shoulder or her forehead. He just wanted to feel her. He just wanted to get to know her body, to hold it close to him. Just the two of them, alone in their bed with the rain belting down against the window. Shutting out the rest of the world. Shutting out the judgement. Moments like this didn't last, and he knew that things were not going to get easier for them. Not now, not after this. He wasn't sure if she knew what she had gotten herself into. If only there was someone in her life who could guide her to do the right thing.

He felt Elizabeth's hands over his vast torso, tracing his scars with her slender fingers. He felt her run her hands up and down his arms, squeezing the muscle she found, getting to know the physical geography of him. He couldn't remember falling asleep, but he woke up with her still in his arms. She had turned around and pushed her back into his front like she always did when she slept on the floor with him. In his sleepy state he thought that's exactly where they were. His first instinct when he felt his erection grinding into her rear was that he had to stop and pull away. But then the previous night came back to him. How she cried and kissed him in the other room...the drunken confession to the priest, then the sober confession to her. Her fingers in his hair. His hand on her leg. The kiss that made it all ok.

Elizabeth stirred, as if his thinking woke her up. As she rubbed her eyes and stretched, Booker wondered if she was second guessing this. He wasn't sure what expression he should expect to see across her pretty face as she slowly and sleepily rolled over to see him.

"G'morning." She greeted him, sleepily. Not a hint of regret or embarrassment on her face. "Did you sleep ok?"

Seeing her face set him at ease, and he pulled her closer to him, letting her head rest on his shoulder.

"I had a weird dream." He confessed.

"Oh?"

"Yeah." The core of the dream was lost to him, as it so often was when he woke. But he remembered some of it. He remembered enough. "I was flying."

"Like on the skylines?" She asked. Her voice was low and croaky. She didn't sound quite awake just yet.

"No. Like a bird."

"Hmmm. That sounds fun."

Booker cleared his throat, desperate for a drink of water. His hangover hadn't quite set in yet, but he felt as seedy as hell. In fact, he was sure he was still a little drunk.

"It wasn't so great...I had lost you."

"Lost me?"

"Yeah." He said, tightening his grip on her. "You had run away. I was trying like hell to get you back. I flew all over the city to find you, tearing out whole buildings to see if you were under em, but you just didn't want to be found."

As he spoke her arm crossed over his torso and came to rest on his heart, playing with a patch of hair that had stubbornly grown around the scars.

"I had a weird dream too." She said, sounding a bit more awake. "I was sitting by a river, crying my eyes out."

"Why?"

"I'm not sure. I wanted to look in the river, but every time I tried I would just start crying again. I've never cried so hard in my life."

Booker let his fingers gently stroke her arm. He supposed he was too deep in a semi blackout state to notice if Elizabeth had been crying in her sleep. He liked to think he would instantly wake up if she was in any kind of distress. The thought of her in pain while he lay drunkenly and uselessly beside her made him hate himself in a whole new way. He kissed her head in a vain attempt to make up for it. For everything.

"But you're here. So it's ok now." She finished.

* * *

><p><strong>vicchavez007<strong> - Thanks for the comments :) I'm glad you're enjoying it. To date Booker and Liz have really only had one day to be normal together before it all fell back apart. Booker would love to be the one to acclimatize Elizabeth back into society, but it's not looking good.

**3501BlackDemon** - I really appreciate your comments :) Poor Booker and Liz, no, nothing is really going right for them, is it? I don't want to keep throwing inexplicable obstacles in front of them for effect, but I think Booker has so many damn skeletons in both of their closets (even Liz's) that it's going to be a struggle.I'm glad you like Ruth, Booker doesn't have a lot of friends (or any, really) so I kind of went with someone who would 'hang on' to him for the one kind thing he did ages ago.

**anon (01)** - Thank you :) I try to keep the characters true to the game, I really appreciate that you guys notice that.

**Anon (02)** - Much appreciated! There's a lot of good Bioshock fanfics out there, so I'm glad I'm so high on the list :)

**Anon (03)** - Hehehe :) I finished well over a year ago and I am STILL trying to work out my feelings. Hence the fanfic. Your lovely comments are much appreciated and I hope you're still hanging around :)

**Cheese-kun - **Thank you :) As much as Liz getting her own place might be a step in the right direction for her, I don't think she would be ready to hear that for a long time. The poor girl is just stuck in a place where she desperately wants to have some sort of love or family in her life, and it's one of the only feelings that overrides her otherwise good sense.

**anon (04)** - Appreciated :) Definitely plan to keep this happening for a while.

**firefkrhammerthorn** - Thank you :) I really want to focus more on the emotional toll this will have on them and how far they will have to go to exist in this new paradigm they accidentally created for themselves instead of just a series of one shot smut scenes (which I will in no way condemn).

For your second point, firstly criticize away :) I don't count myself as an author I just write weird stories about fictional characters as a hobby. Secondly, I'm not too sure if I made it clear, but Booker and Liz never had sex on the first lady. It never occurred to me that I had given off that impression, but re reading those first few chapters I can see that I never clarified that they didn't. Lets just chalk that up to amateur writing :)

Now, I do plan on revisiting that incident later, because Booker views it much differently than Elizabeth and there's a good reason why.

**HeyiyaIf** - Thank you :) Your comments always get me thinking !

First off, Cringy bits! I'm using the whole father/daughter terminology less and less because I think even unconsciously they would be using it less and less for the very reasons you stated. It just doesn't fit. As far as the smut goes, I did just write the first physical scene about a week ago, and I have to say it feels like the least sexiest thing I have ever written. I think that's how it might have to be at first =/

I do get why Booker did what he did. He was going to be a terrible father at that point and it might have been for the best if Anna went to another family. It is all well and good to say that he should have tried harder, but like you said there was NO social support back then. He was truly on his own and in the worst case scenario that could have cost his baby's life. However, there's something about how Robert seemed hell bent on getting HIS daughter that should have been a great big red flag for Booker. It's one thing to give your child up for adoption, but I am under the impression that Robert came to Booker to secure the deal. I guess I just don't know enough about how it all went down (did Robert just buy Booker a few drinks at a bar and wait for him to mention his problems which Robert just happened to have the answer to? Did he just straight up knock on Booker's door and ask if he was interested in selling his kid?) to really form a concrete opinion. In saying that, Elizabeth has every right to be pissed, confused and a little in love with him.

Speaking of Robert! Guess who has a cameo later?!


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